Becoming Arthur
by Soldier 24601
Summary: How Arthur met Cobb, Mal, Miles, and Eames.  The story of how our beloved Point Man became the man we know from Inception.  Story is better than the summary : NOT slash!  Arthur and Cobb are just the main characters.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: This story wouldn't get out of my head. It was sudden inspiration and before it leaves, I'm going to write it down. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

It was autumn in Paris. The atmosphere was filled with the crisp feel of cool air and the smell of colored leaves that littered the ground, skittering across the streets occasionally being lifted briefly into the air, twirling and dancing on the breeze. This was the sort of day that made Miles fall in love with Paris all those years ago; in love with Paris and in love with his wife. They'd met on a day like this. It had been too long since she'd sat with him there in the park, enjoying the rainbow of leaves—gold, brown, red, and orange—and reminiscing about the day they had first seen each other, right there in the Jardins des Champs-Elysées. That was years and years ago.

Miles shifted on his bench, pulling his jacket a little tighter around him. Despite the beauty of autumn, it was still chilly and he'd been waiting there for almost a half hour. He was beginning to wonder if his son-in-law was going to show up at all.

He glanced down at his watch for the fifteenth time, almost about to give up and head back to the college, when he finally heard the approach of a familiar, steady step.

"You always had a taste for the romantic," Dom said with the slightest hint at humor. The older gentleman smiled in response. "It's beautiful this time of year." Dom nodded at his surroundings.

"I could never resist this place in autumn," Miles agreed, standing to shake his son-in-law's hand.

He took in Dom's appearance. It had been a while since they'd seen one another. Ever since he and Mal had moved to LA, Miles only saw them a few times a year, depending on how well work went for both of them. The last he'd seen of Dom was almost a full year ago. Business had been slow on his end, and even a college professor's salary wasn't enough for constant trips back and forth across an ocean and half a continent. Dom was, as usual, his ruggedly charming self. His hair was slicked back today and he was wearing a business suit, which made him seem somewhat less rough around the edges than he often did, but he was more or less the same as ever.

The same could not be said of himself. Miles was getting on in years. He had married somewhat later in life than he would have liked, and had his only child, Malory, when he was in his late thirties. Now, he insisted that he was healthy as a horse, and as far as he knew, he was. But he was certainly getting older and slower. Work exhausted him every day and he spent much of his time resting. He could have retired this year, but he wouldn't hear of it. Teaching was his passion, and if he had his way he would only end his career as a professor if he was drug out of the school forcibly.

Dom had placed his hands in his pockets, giving off that slightly impatient air that seemed to be a permanent part of his personality. "So what merits the invitation?" he did not say it impolitely. Despite he's son-in-law's lack of warmth he knew that Dom was no less intense in his feelings or affections than anyone else. He merely didn't display it like others.

Mile's eyes sparkled at the question. A smile spreading across his features he said, "I have someone I'd like you to meet."

"I've yet to meet him myself," Miles continued as they entered his unused office. He flicked the light switch and made a face at the thin layer of dust that greeted them. "His paper was given to me by a colleague. It's quite brilliant, despite a few holes. But that can be fixed." He strode over to his desk and removed the only item there—a folder with plan black print across the top that Dom could not make out. "Shall we adjourn to my classroom?"

Dom nodded once and led the way out of the closet-like office. He knew the halls of the college well. He often came to visit Miles there, so there was no awkward pause as he waited for the professor to tell him where to go. They arrived at the classroom and Miles unlocked the door with steady hands. He did not look over his shoulder as he spoke.

"I'm going to meet the boy today," he said as he pushed the door open. It creaked, despite constant use. Without glancing at his son-in-law, he handed over the folder.

Dom read the title silently, then flipped open the folder and began to scan the paper inside.

"It's his dissertation," Miles said, nodding at the paper in Dom's hands. He didn't seem bothered by the fact that the other man was reading while he spoke. "His psychology professor—a good friend of mine—Professor Albert Blanc thought I might be interested, due to my closeness to the subject."

"It's good." Dom sounded only mildly impressed as he said it. He had scanned the first few pages and now flipped forward to the end, which he read quickly. When he finished, he looked up. "But not perfect."

"Well, no. He could use some correction, a little training perhaps," Miles agreed, picking up a pen on his desk and holding one end in each hand without even glancing at it.

"He sounds a little too sure of himself," Dom said with an air of finality. Miles knew he wasn't turning down the offer, just stating his initial analysis.

"I thought so as well," the professor said patiently. "That's why I'm meeting with him today. I'd like you to come along." He allowed one hand to drop the end of the pen so that it tapped the desk before bringing it automatically back to his fingertips.

The slightest smile played at the corners of Dom's lips. "You want me to corrupt a student?" He sounded both incredulous and a tad bit teasing.

"I wouldn't say corrupt." Miles leaned back in his chair. "He's graduating in the spring anyway, and he's potential is limitless. Already he's got more job offers than he knows what to do with. But I spoke with Blanc. He doesn't think this boy's really interested in any of them. Frankly, from what I've heard, they'd be a waste of his talent."

"You sound like you know him," Dom said, placing the folder on the corner of Miles' desk.

"You know," the old man smiled as he spoke, "I feel like I do, after reading that paper." He stood and pointed a finger at his son-in-law's chest. "I think he's the one, Dom. From what I can tell, he fits the bill perfectly. I don't want you judging him before you even meet him. Just give the boy a chance."

Dom inclined his head in reply, but said nothing.

The campus had become so familiar over the past four years. It was home, far more than Albany ever was, and he wasn't looking forward to the awkward reunion with his parents that awaited him when he left this place. He couldn't avoid it any longer; he'd been ignoring them as much as possible ever since he'd left for school nearly six years before. Grad school had been an excuse to keep as far away as he could, and Paris was definitely far from New York.

He strode up to the School of the Arts with a determined step, pulling the doors open with one hand and holding it for the girl that was coming in the opposite direction. She thanked him sweetly and he flashed her a very brief ghost of a smile.

This was the first time he'd been in the Arts building in nearly a year. He'd taken a few elective courses there in previous semesters, but he'd never been a serious student there. The halls were nearly empty at this time of day, and he had to keep his eyes peeled for the correct door since there wasn't anyone to ask directions from. He stumbled upon it almost by accident, but recovered quickly enough to look in control as he rapped three times on the glass.

An older gentleman opened the door, stepping out into the hall to shake hands with him.

"Arthur, it's a pleasure to meet you," the gentleman said with a grandfatherly smile. "I'm Professor Miles, a friend of Professor Blanc's."

Arthur didn't have time to be surprised with the fact that he didn't need to introduce himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," he responded smoothly.

Miles spread his hand out to indicate the hallway. "Could we walk for a minute? There are some things I'd like to discuss with you."

Arthur nodded, falling into step beside the older gentleman.

"I read your dissertation on shared dream technology. It was quite impressive, I must say." He looked straight ahead as he spoke, his hands clasped together behind his back.

"Thank you." Arthur didn't know what else to say.

"Your research was extensive and thorough, your conclusions spot on. Only a few mistakes, here and there, really."

"Mistakes?" Arthur couldn't help the question, though his tone remained completely level. He wasn't defensive, simply curious.

The professor came to a stop, turning to face Arthur fully for the first time.

"Did you know that I was the original architect on the military's first shared dream project?" His eyes sparkled as he said it, like he was remembering the thrill of it all when he spoke

Arthur was taken by surprise. He shifted his weight slightly. "No, sir, I didn't."

"I've trained a handful of people in dream sharing myself," he continued, once again starting to walk.

"That's…incredible," Arthur admitted with a hint of admiration. "I wish I'd known that before I started writing. I would have come to you sooner."

"Well, it's never too late to make a new, and hopefully helpful, acquaintance," Miles replied. There was a short pause as he seemed to weigh his own words before he continued. "Would it be wrong of me to assume that you have longed to try dream sharing yourself, now that you've learned so much about it?"

Arthur's response was steady. "No, you wouldn't be. I've certainly considered—"

"My boy, search no more." The professor had stopped walking once again, smiling widely at Arthur now.

The younger man tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. "Sir?"

Miles turned and began walking back in the direction they had come. "There is a man in my classroom that would very much like to meet you," he said illusively. "He's an expert at dream sharing. One of the men, in fact, that I trained myself."

Arthur's eyebrows rose slightly.

"He's here to offer you a job, but he'll want to test you some first. Would you be interested?" He knew the answer before he even asked the question.

"Surprised, but yes, I'm interested," Arthur confessed.

The older man clapped him on the shoulder. "Lovely," he said as he steered Arthur into his classroom.

Cobb stood slowly as the two men, one old and eyes alight with excitement, the other young and looking exactly like Dom had pictured him. He wasn't too thrilled with his first impression. The boy was in his early twenties with dark hair and eyes and a very smooth, in-control appearance. His clothes were casual—a grey T-shirt covered by a navy blue sweater worn with a pair of jeans—but obviously expensive. This kid came from money, that much was clear. And there it was—the slight tilt upward in the way he held his chin. He was handsome and clever, and he knew it. It would have been imperceptible to nearly anyone else, but Cobb had trained himself to notice the vaguest of details; it was a major part of being an architect, especially a dream architect. The boy wasn't exactly arrogant, from what he could tell, just aware of himself. That could either be a very good sign or a very major setback.

"Arthur, I'd like you to meet Mr. Cobb," Miles said, gesturing at Dom with one hand.

The boy didn't need any other invitation. With two very stead strides he reached Dom and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you." His voice was even and controlled.

A faint smile, too quick to be noticed, crossed Dom's lips as he took the younger man's hand. "Same to you," he replied. Arthur's grip was firm and he returned it with equal resolve. "I was looking through your paper just now. It's very remarkable."

"Thank you." He was polite, but unimpressed by the compliment.

"Though there are a few things you're missing," Dom continued, not allowing the younger man to feel too sure of himself. "First of all, experience in the field. You're talking about something that you yourself have never experienced. That loses you a little of your credibility."

It was hard to tell, but Arthur's chin came up ever so slightly.

Cobb took a step backwards, then turned around entirely, walking towards the giant blackboard. "I, however, would be interested in helping you get some of that experience." He turned again to face the boy, hands sliding into place in his pockets. "You have a lot of potential from what I can see. But, of course, it's all up to you…"

"What exactly?" Arthur asked cautiously. "What kind of experience are you talking about?"

Dom sat lightly on the edge of the desk. "Have you ever heard of extraction, Arthur?"

"Excuse me?"

This time, Cobb actually allowed himself to smile. "Extraction. It's the illegal removal of information from someone's subconscious during the dream-state."

There was a short pause. "No, I've never heard of it."

"I thought so, after reading your paper. There was no mention of it." He could feel his totem in his pocket, small and solid in his hand.

"I wasn't aware—" the student began, for the first time starting to sound defensive.

"And that's because it's a very new form of crime," Cobb cut him off smoothly. "Hardly anyone knows about it. Even those who've been effected rarely, if ever, discover what it was that happened to them." The boy looked incredulous. "And that's why it's so lucrative to be on the opposite side."

"The opposite side?" Arthur repeated.

"Yes," Dom said, standing now and walking to the board. He examined it as he spoke, glancing over the sketches that had been left from Miles' last class. "Because hardly anyone is aware of extraction's possibilities, it's become successful almost overnight. As more and more people become subject to it, more and more people are in need of being trained against extraction." He looked over his shoulder at the young man. "That's where I come in."

Arthur shifted his weight and folded his arms, obviously interested.

"I train people against extraction in the possibility that they might be attacked," Cobb continued slowly. "I teach them what to do in case they realize they are being robbed of their secrets."

"That's…" Arthur began, shaking his head as he tried to take in the information.

"Incredibly lucrative," Dom repeated.

"How exactly does that work?" the younger man asked, genuinely curious.

"We take the subject into the dream state and teach them what it means to be attacked mentally, in their subconscious." Cobb reached over and picked up Arthur's paper from off the desk. "From reading this I gather you're interested in dream sharing." He looked up at the younger man who made no response. "For some time I've been in need of a new point man, and, if you're willing to take a little risk, I think you just might be it."

"Point man?" Arthur said with a hint of confusion and obvious interest.

"You'd be my eyes and ears on every project," Cobb explained. "It'll take a lot of training, but you've got the potential. And, as I said before, it's a very rewarding business."

Silence fell between the three men. Miles had sat in one of the chairs in the auditorium, watching in unspoken interest while the two younger men talked. His eyes were on Arthur now as he stood there, arms folded, appraising Cobb with calculating eyes.

Finally, Dom dropped the folder back onto the desk and headed for the door. He gave Arthur a pointed look as he walked past him and said, "I'll give you a few days to think about it." He strode past the possible point man and to the door. Just before the door closed he said, without turning around, "If you're interested, Miles will get you in contact with me."

There was a dull click as the door closed behind him and for a moment, neither Arthur nor Miles spoke. Slowly, the older man stood, walking over to place his hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"He's really not as grouchy as he seems."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: I purposefully made Arthur's first experience in dream sharing very similar to Ariadne's. I wanted to show a link between the two of them. But from here on out, they're training is vastly different. Just letting you know.

Chapter 2

It hadn't taken a lot of consideration. He was curious, and he wasn't about to let the opportunity of a lifetime slip through his fingers. Because he hadn't wanted to seem too desperate to follow Cobb, he'd given it a day before going back to see Professor Miles. Then, trying hard to seem like he'd had to give the choice a great deal of thought, he told the old man he was in. He was handed a blank envelope; he accepted it coolly and left the room without opening it. Somehow he managed to get all the way back to his apartment before he yanked it out, neatly ripping the side of the envelope and tilting it to let the paper inside fall into his hand. It was perfectly white and folded so neatly he almost feared it too would be blank once he unfolded it. But there, printed in block letters that showed an impatience in the writer unlike that exhibited by the envelope and folded paper, was an address, a date, and a time tucked inside.

The address was for a one-story house on the outskirts of Paris. The date was the following day. The time was 7:00 AM.

For a moment, Arthur stared dumbfounded at the paper. Why such an odd hour he couldn't fathom, but the part of him that hadn't thought twice about accepting the offer won out over the part of him that had proudly marched him back to his apartment before opening the envelope. Despite his distaste for the idea, he rose early the next morning and dressed himself carefully. He couldn't be sure what was going to happen over there, so he wore jeans and a T-shirt and a leather jacket. He put on sneakers, guessing that "training" could be anything and he'd rather be safe than sorry.

Arthur could have afforded a car. Much to his disgust, his step-father had insisted on paying for all of Arthur's schooling and, no matter how much he protested, he couldn't stop the man from wiring him tuition money—far more than he needed—at the beginning of every semester. Out of spite, he'd gotten a job as a translator for a while, to prove that he could earn money on his own. He never told his step-father, so it shouldn't have mattered. But it did. So, even though he could have afforded a car, he much preferred walking the streets of Paris and enjoying the freedom of forgetting his family's money. He could tell by the look Cobb had given him two days before, however, that it was still obvious he was a rich kid. That didn't matter. Frankly, he didn't care what Cobb thought of him and his history. If Arthur had his way, Cobb would never even find out.

So there he stood, nearly a quarter past seven in the morning, watching the sun rise behind the pitiful excuse for a house that was, for some reason, the chosen meeting place. It looked like no one had lived there for years, and even when there had been occupants, they would have been living in an outdated house. For the first, and certainly not the last time, he started to doubt Cobb's sanity. Anyone who would pick such a place for a meeting at five in the morning was clearly either out of their mind, or a complete genius. He didn't want to make a judgment just yet, but Arthur was sure Cobb certainly thought of himself as the latter.

He knocked on the door and watched as paint peeled from the wood and flaked to the doormat below which read _Bonjour_. There was no reply. He waited for almost a minute, and then knocked again. Still nothing. Frustrated now, he tried the knob. Simultaneously taking him by surprise and seeming perfectly expected, the door swung open as soon as he touched the handle. He stepped inside to find a completely empty room excluding a desk pushed up against the far wall and a couple of overstuffed chairs facing each other in the center of the room.

"You're late." The voice almost made him jump. He managed to keep his composure however, saving himself only a little embarrassment.

"I walked," Arthur replied, watching as Cobb emerged from the shadowy hallway that most likely led to the kitchen or restroom.

"Well next time take a cab, or run if you have to. But get here on time." He pushed past Arthur to shut the door.

For a moment they were in almost total darkness excluding the minimal light that came through the window from the rising sun. Then, Cobb flicked the light switch, bathing the place in florescent light.

"Nice place," Arthur said dryly. He folded his arms across his chest.

"Have a seat," Cobb commanded, sitting himself in one of the overstuffed armchairs. He watched Arthur with steady eyes as he paused obstinately for a moment before striding over to the other chair and sitting on the edge of the cushion. "Are you ready to start?"

"How did you know I'd do it?" He wasn't sure where the question had come from, but as soon as it left his mouth, he knew he wanted the answer.

Cobb leaned back in his seat, placing his hands on the arms of the chair as though he were making himself comfortable. "I didn't know. But I was pretty sure. You were too curious to stay away."

Arthur didn't respond.

The older man tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair for a moment before continuing. "Now before you decide you actually want to do this, there are a few things you should know."

"Okay," Arthur said suspiciously. His eyes had narrowed ever so slightly.

"First of all, after this, you're not going to be able to dream anymore. You probably know that from your research, but I want to make this perfectly clear." Cobb leveled his gaze at Arthur so intensely that the soon-to-be-Point-Man couldn't make himself look away. "The longer you spend in these dreams, the less you can dream in real life. Eventually you won't be able to do it at all."

"What's so important about dreams?" Arthur demanded.

Cobb shrugged. It was a slight movement, more in the tilt of his head than in the lift of his shoulders. "Maybe they're not important. But trust me, you'll miss it."

Arthur shifted in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and tilting his clasped hands forward so that they were pointing at Cobb.

"Go on."

"Second," the older man continued, now curling his taping fingers into a fist, "this isn't going to be exactly safe all the time. You're going to be attacked in these dreams. It's harmless enough, it can't kill you. But it hurts like hell."

Arthur opened his mouth to ask a question, but thought better of it as Cobb continued as though he hadn't noticed the younger man's interruption.

"You're also going to have to dedicate a serious amount of time to this," Cobb warned. "I'm going to be flexible enough to let you do what you need to do graduate, but every other spare moment you have will be spent here, training."

"Fine," Arthur said quickly, nodding for Cobb to continue. A ghost of a smile crossed the older man's features at that, but it lasted for only a moment.

"This isn't going to be easy." He let the words hang for a second. "Not now or ever. It's always hard." Again he paused, this time long enough to look Arthur right in the eyes and give him a piercing stare. "And once you start, you can never go back to life as it was. Things will always be different for you. Are you okay with that."

"Yes." It was almost defensive.

The two men sized each other up for a while before Cobb finally nodded. "Okay then." He stood and so did Arthur. "Let's start."

They were in the center of a street, walking in the dull glow of the early morning. Cobb, as usual, had his hands in his pockets. Arthur walked steadily next to him, almost impatient at the pace the older man was walking, slow and measured like there was nowhere in particular they needed to go. It seemed like they'd been walking forever.

Cobb was listing off how the training process was going to go. Early every morning, Arthur would show up for a session, and then come back in the evening after classes. His job, apparently, was extremely complicated.

"Where are we going?" Arthur demanded, looking sideways at his new teacher. They must have been wandering for over an hour.

"We're already here," Cobb said evenly.

"What?"

It was early, but people were beginning to walk the streets. Most of them seemed to be terribly interested in the two men.

"Take a good look around." Dom nodded at their surroundings.

Arthur quickly glanced around him. "At what?"

The older man shook his head and sighed, though Arthur could see him smiling. "You're being a little too impatient about this. Take a deep breath and think about where you are and how you got here." He came to a stop, grabbing Arthur by the elbow to make him stop too. "Just look around."

Still confused, he obeyed. The street looked vaguely familiar, though he was sure he'd never been here before. He had never been to the part of town where the ramshackle little house they were using was, so he assumed this street must be nearby. He didn't recognize any faces or street signs. Frowning, he shifted his weight onto his right foot and folded his arms as he looked around, thinking of Cobb's comment: "think about where you are and how you got here." He honestly couldn't remember.

"I don't…" he narrowed his eyes as he watched a lady struggle to get her dog away from a trashcan. "How did we get here?"

Cobb smiled. "Did you ever notice that in a dream, you can't ever remember how it all starts?"

Arthur's lips parted slightly in surprise. "We're…we're dreaming. This is a dream." It was a statement, but Cobb could see the confusion in his face. Then, suddenly, he seemed to realize that his emotions were displayed publicly and he snapped back to a look of control. "How?"

"Right now, you're asleep, back in the house. You've studied about this, I read it in your paper." Cobb monitored Arthur's reaction very carefully.

Though he managed to keep his face straight, Cobb could tell that his student's breathing was coming uneven, his heart rate accelerating. It happened almost every time, the first time you realized you'd been put under…

"Take a deep breath," Cobb commanded. Arthur obeyed. "Good. Now, our time is about up," he glanced down at his watch as he spoke, "so I want you to do me a favor."

Arthur was tightlipped. "What?"

"Don't panic."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but there wasn't time to say anything. The ground beneath them began to rumble and shake. Cobb stood resolutely, and Arthur did the same, though it was obvious his hands were trembling. Suddenly, the ground lurched beneath them, cracking and pulling apart in every direction. Arthur's head snapped up to look at Cobb in time to see his new mentor stumble and fall to his knees. A gap was forming right below them. Without warning, there was nothing underneath Arthur's feet and he was falling. Falling and falling…

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright.

"That was…"

"Not bad for a first try," Cobb said patiently. "But we don't have time for more this morning." He looked up at Arthur with dismissal. "You can go."

"That was…incredible," Arthur finished his sentence this time.

Cobb nodded. "It's rough the first time. After a while you'll learn how to tell the difference. But we'll discuss that next time." He stood, pulling the catheter out of his wrist and then reaching into his pocket as he walked over to the desk.

Arthur slowly removed the needle from his own skin, fighting back the desire to wince. He kept his eyes pinned on Cobb as he watched the older man remove something small from his pocket and drop it onto the desk.

"What is that?" Arthur asked, his curiosity peeked.

"I'll tell you next time," Cobb said. He slid the object back into his pocket.

Frowning, but unwilling to push the subject, Arthur stood and stretched. His body felt like it wasn't his own. Knowing that just a moment ago he'd been somewhere that could randomly break apart in an earthquake without killing him made him feel vulnerable in the real world. He didn't voice his concerns.

He glanced down at his watch and, to his amazement, it was only eight o'clock. That left him an hour to get to class, which was just about how long it would take. He was sure that they'd been in the dream for an hour, minimum, but now…He shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts.

Cobb did not turn around, or offer any further goodbyes, so Arthur excused himself. Just as he was closing the door, he heard the older man call after him.

"Be back here tonight at six."

The door clicked loudly behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: This version of Arthur's history is not backed by Christopher Nolan. It completely came from me. I hope it makes sense, and if it doesn't know, it will later. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

It was impossible to focus during classes that day. He struggled through each one, imagining what worlds lay ahead for him to explore that evening. Everything felt watered down in comparison to the dream—it had been so vivid and real. It made him wonder just how it was one could choose not to stay in the dreams—permanently. But even as he thought it, he knew that would never be satisfactory. The first taste was addictive, but once you were caught in it, reality would certainly have its appeals. He'd studied this. He knew, deep down, that there was a lot of danger in thinking the way he was. But he couldn't help the craving that he felt. It was the longest day of his life.

He didn't bother to eat, change, or do anything other than race to the house as soon as classes were over. This time, he was there early. The door was open once again, but this time, there was no Cobb to be seen.

Arthur stood in the doorway for a long time. He could see the briefcase with the machine that could induce him into the dream world sitting on the desk. Unattended. He was tempted, but he fought the need to go back and explore. Instead, glancing down at his watch and realizing he was nearly half an hour early, he went to investigate the rest of the house.

There wasn't much to see. The living room/dining room area, where the two chairs and the desk were set up, was the largest part of the house. A small hallway led to two very small bedrooms (both empty) and a dingy little bathroom. Through a door off of the dining room was the kitchen. He was about to go back and sit in on of the chairs when he noticed the large glass doors in the kitchen and, through them, the distorted figure of his mentor.

Cobb was standing with his hands tightly gripping the back of a wicker chair as he surveyed the overgrown garden. Next to him was a table that looked so rickety, Arthur was surprised it was still standing at all. Slowly, the Point-Man-in-training walked up to the glass. He could see somewhat more clearly now, and once again he noticed that Cobb was fiddling with a small object in his right hand. Forgetting to be subtle, Arthur pushed open the sliding door, making Cobb jump. Before Arthur even had time to fully open the door, the older man had a gun barrel pointed directly at his forehead. There was an intense moment of silence as both men stood motionless, staring at each other. With very measured movements, Cobb lowered his gun and raised his right hand to drop the object he was holding onto the table. It clinked softly when it hit. The older man allowed himself a brief glance at the item before snatching it up and stuffing it in his pocket. Arthur could just barely make out its shape before it disappeared. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like a charm in the shape of an Eifel Tower.

"What is that?" He couldn't contain his curiosity.

Cobb seemed to have gotten his composure back. There was a soft click as he returned to the safety to the proper place on the gun. His face had returned to a mask of calm, though his eyes were still troubled. Arthur almost didn't expect an answer to his question, but surprisingly enough, he removed the mini Eifel Tower and placed it on the table so that it stood erect.

"That's my totem," Cobb said simply, as though the term should already be familiar to Arthur.

Without thinking, the student reached out to pick up the little metal structure, but before his hand was even halfway to its destination, Cobb had snagged him by the wrist and was jerking Arthur's hand away.

"Don't," he snapped. "A person's totem is unique to them. Only I can know the exact weight and feel of it."

"What does it do?" Arthur asked, somewhat stupidly he realized.

"It's what tells me I'm in reality and not in a dream." Cobb was already placing the Tower back in his pocket. "In a dream, when I drop it, it always lands erect. It never falls over." He pushed his way past Arthur into the kitchen. He continued to speak as he walked so that Arthur had to follow. "You'll need one of your own. It should be significant to you in some way. Something only you will understand and recognize. So that way you'll be able to keep track of reality. Trust me, those lines start to blur real fast in this trade."

"May I ask why the Eifel Tower?" Arthur said to Cobb's back.

The older man stopped, then turned to face his student.

"That's where I met my wife," he answered quietly.

Somehow, he knew exactly what he wanted as his totem. He didn't even have to think about it, though he couldn't help but wonder what had brought it to his mind. It had been years since he'd thrown it into a box, packing up to head to Grad School, only bringing it along because, despite everything, he did feel some sort of obligation to his father. Now, as he searched through the nooks and crannies of his apartment, he could remember with exact detail how he'd gotten it. At the time he'd been furious, too angry to say thank you, or even goodbye. Looking back, he regretted it.

It took longer than he would have liked to find it, but there it was, gathering dust in a drawer among several other items he'd been ignoring over the past few years. He ran his fingers over the silky surface, feeling the clumps of tiny dents that made up the numbers of the die. Bright red—more so than he remembered—and covered in white spots, it seemed somehow beautiful to him at that moment. He could feel how it was weighted to one side which he recalled vaguely, as though it was something out of a dream he had long ago. He shook his head to clear that thought away. Never again would he be able to use that metaphor without it meaning far, far more than the simple phrase would suggest. In an attempt to change his thought venue, he cast the die and watched as it rolled once, twice, three times and then landed with the six side up.

He cast it again. And again. He lost count of how many times. At the end of each roll, the die faced with six dots up. The new totem felt right in his hand, like it had always been intended for this purpose. That thought left a wry smile on his face as he recalled the use this die had gotten long before Arthur ever owned it.

_ It was May, just one month before high school graduation. The weather was gorgeous, but it was hard to notice that when he was walking through the front gate of the prison. Arthur's face was set in what would be a permanent frown for the next few months. He obediently allowed himself to be searched before he entered the visiting area, then stalked through the door to his seat, his shoulders hunched and his eyes narrowed in frustration. He had to wait several minutes while a guard went back to inform the prisoner he had a quest. Arthur sat and picked at the loose string on his jeans, staring pointedly at it so that he wouldn't be able to see anything else. _

_ The quiet sound of murmured conversations throughout the long hallway full of visitors sitting at counters, speaking into phones even though the person they were talking to was just two feet away, separated from them by a thick layer of glass. He tried to block out what he could hear; things like 'I love you' and 'it's going to be okay.' It made him feel sick to his stomach. He wasn't here for that. And he wasn't going to beat around the bush. What he had to say was waiting on his tongue like a bitter taste he couldn't get rid of. It wasn't going to be reassuring or sweet. It was going to be hard and unfeeling. It was going to be the truth, complete and undiluted. The thought was cathartic. _

_ Suddenly, the jingle of keys in a lock and the rusty sound of handcuff chains brushing together tell him his father had entered the booth. Arthur didn't look up until he heard the scrape of a chair against the floor and then the fall of silence as his father waited for him to approach the phone. He purposefully waited almost a full minute before he stood._

_ He sat heavily in the hard plastic chair. Slowly, he picked up the receiver and brought it to his mouth. There was so much he wanted to say. But he waited. He wanted to hear his father's lies first. He wanted a reason to explode._

_ "You know, you look more like your mother than me." _

_ It wasn't what he wanted to hear. His knuckles turned white against the plastic bridge of the phone. What a stupid way to start the conversation._

_ "You'll turn out all right," his dad was saying, teasing. "You're good looking, smart. And what with that step-dad of yours, you'll be able to live like a movie star."_

_ Arthur did not want a reminder that his mother had remarried just that last month. It had been a blow, having some stranger suddenly start pretending to be his father. He made his mom happy, which was enough to appease him, but Greg was _never_ going to be a part of his life, if he could help it. Arthur was done with fathers; in a month he'd be graduating and he could be as far away from both of them as he wanted. The liar and the pretender. _

_ His father hadn't failed to notice the silence on Arthur's part._

_ "Come on, Arthur" he sighed, running a hand across his forehead. He looked genuinely upset. "I don't know what me to say to you. I'm not going to apologize, if that's what you're waiting for."_

_ "I didn't come to hear you apologize." He couldn't manage anything else. His lips were drawn closed in a tight line. _

_His father had been right; they didn't look much alike. He'd received the more refined appearance of his mother, what with his dark hair and eyes and naturally composed and unruffled exterior. On the other hand, his father was handsome in a businessman type way, though not in the same way that Greg was. He had the appearance of one who'd stumbled upon business rather than being born into it. It was clear just by looking at his parents that they had been attracted to each other for the mystery of being nothing alike. His mom was with a man much more suited to her now, though Arthur found he didn't like the situation any better. _

"_What did you come for, then?"_

"_Hell, do you think I know?" Arthur's expression and tone did not change, though he could see in his dad's eyes that he was pleased he'd gotten some form of reaction at all. It had always driven him crazy that his wife and son could keep so aloof in an argument. Now, he could at least tell when he'd ruffled Arthur a little._

"_I guess not," his dad said with a chuckle. It was infuriating._

_They fell silent for almost a full minute. Arthur glared through his own reflection in the glass to his father, sitting there looking half way pleased with himself and halfway upset that he had nothing worth saying to his son. He felt like his eyes should have been boring holes into the glass._

"_Look, Arthur," his dad started again, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on the counter, "I wanted to tell you something before you leave. Do you want to hear it?"_

"_No." It was the honest answer._

_A slight smirk crossed his father's features. "I'll tell you anyway. You'll thank me for it someday."_

"_Huh." Somehow Arthur was able to get it out sounding sarcastic rather than hurt. He was proud of himself._

"_Just so you know, I loved you and your mother. Really. I just loved gambling too. If I had to choose between the two, the one I understood was gambling. So that's what I went with. It wasn't because I didn't care about you. I did. Do you believe me?"_

"_No." His eyes narrowed to slits._

_A deep sigh from his father. "I sent you money. I let your mother go because I knew she'd be happier with someone else. That's love, isn't it?"_

"_Is it? I wouldn't know."_

_This time, his father chuckled again. The hairs on the back of Arthur's neck bristled. "You've got your mother's spirit too. But you know what you've got from me?"_

_Arthur didn't respond. He knew the question was rhetorical and even if it wasn't, he couldn't have managed an answer anyway. _

"_You got my guts. Your mother's looks, her brains, her responsibility. Just about every good thing in you's your mother. But you got your guts from me, Artie. Remember that."_

"_I'm not a little boy anymore," Arthur reminded his father coldly. "You don't have to talk to me like one and you can't call me that anymore." Pet names wouldn't change the fact that his father had gambled away their relationship as a family, then gotten himself thrown in jail for fraud and illegal gambling. _

"_I can't?"_

"_No, you can't."_

_Silence fell between them again. Then, another heavy sigh from his father. _

"_You've grown up, Arthur. And I missed it. I'm not sure when it happened, but sometime in between the last time I was your un-divorced father and now you became a man." He looked down at his hand, now absently taping the countertop. "But then again, you never were a kid. You were always a little two grown up for your own good."_

"_Have you got anything else useful to say?" Arthur demanded, starting to push back his chair. "Because I have places I'd rather be."_

"_No, nothing else useful to say," his father said and, despite himself, Arthur appreciated the honesty. "But I do have something to give you."_

"_I don' want—-" He didn't have time to finish the sentence before a guard entered the room bearing a white envelope with a large, square-like bulge. The guard dropped it on the counter in front of Arthur before leaving the way he came. For a long moment, Arthur just stared at the envelope, his curiosity fighting with his pride._

"_Dammit, kid, just open the envelope." His father's voice was surprisingly anything but unkind as he said it. Slowly, Arthur's fingers closed around the sharp corners of the paper and he neatly tore away the side until there was a hole large enough to tilt the envelope and drop its contents into his hand._

"_Brought me luck," his father said as Arthur turned the die over in his hand. "Until I got caught, that is." There was a smile in his voice, but Arthur didn't look up to see it. Instead, he rolled the die and watched as it landed, six side up._

"_I know that doesn't make up for anything, but do me a favor. Just don't throw it away. I don't care if you never look at it again, just keep it as a reminder of me, okay?"_

_Arthur's hand closed around the red and white cube. Then, without another word, he stood and left the room, leaving the receiver hanging over the edge of the counter._

His father died in jail over a year later from cancer. He never spoke to him again.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: I probably should have mentioned this before, but Arthur is NOT meant to be the same in this story as he is in the movie. At least, not at first. He grows to become the Arthur we know, he doesn't start out that way. So if he's slightly out of character, he's that way on purpose. Just wanted to clear that up :)

Chapter 4

The next few lessons were not so successful. It was hard for Arthur to grasp the concepts that were possible in dream state but not in reality. His mind was so focused on what was and wasn't possible that he often had Cobb rolling his eyes and repeating the statement that had sort of become a motto: "You have to rethink possible." He was right. Dreams redefined everything Arthur had ever known. It was a slow process, but by the end of the week he'd actually earned a smile from Cobb as they both pulled out their IV's.

"I think we're ready to move on." Cobb had said it simply, without any further explanation, leaving Arthur to contemplate what could possibly be coming next.

It had taken them seven painfully slow days to cover dream physics. Arthur was now comfortable enough in shared dreaming to understand how and when things could be different from real life science. Paradoxes had particularly caught his attention. They'd spent the last day and a half of his physics training going over the multitude of paradoxes (such as his favorite, the Penrose Steps) and it was the first thing he'd caught onto easily. Loss of gravity, bending of solids like they were made of no more than paper—that to him was hard to grasp. A staircase that never came to an end, but could suddenly have a sheer and deadly drop when things returned to reality (or more correctly, the dream physics was discarded for real three dimensional physics) somehow both captivated and clicked with him. From that point on, he was able to forget what it meant to think something was impossible. At least, to some extent.

What was to happen next was a mystery to Arthur. Frankly, the whole concept of a "Point Man" was still elusive. Cobb wasn't exactly one for details. He only told Arthur what he felt was absolutely necessary for him to know. This "need to know" attitude was quite likely an attempt to teach the younger man patience, but it wasn't working so well. Arthur was normally a very quick learning. He asked questions and tried his best to work things out for himself, and fast. With Cobb, it was stop and go. He'd get one concept and barrel ahead to try and get the next one, or even before he fully understood what he was doing in one thing, he was already asking about what came next. Cobb would have none of this. He said only what pertained to what was he was teaching _at that moment_, and no more. This frustrated Arthur to no end because he'd never been forced to learn like that before. But at the same time, he understood that mastery was essential in this line of work, so though it was almost physically painful for his to bite back his questions sometimes, he was starting to learn the patience to focus on one task at a time.

Maybe that was what had earned him the smile that day, or maybe it was just the fact that Cobb no longer had to pound into the new Point Man's head the concepts of dream physics, but whatever it was, Arthur couldn't help but smile too as he headed back to his apartment that night. Despite his distaste with much of how Cobb behaved, Arthur wanted nothing more than his approval. Perhaps because he knew Cobb was so hard to please, the challenge seemed even more worth tackling.

XXX

"He's just…defiant," Dom complained into the phone which he had caught precariously between his shoulder and his head—which was bent over to keep the phone from toppling—as he opened the microwave to remove his TV dinner. He missed his wife's cooking. "But it's not like he's disobeying me or anything. In fact, it's completely the opposite. He's got this intense need to prove himself. It's like everything I tell him to do he's got to do ten times better than I would expect."

Mal's soft laughter wafted through the phone like it had been carried to him on a breeze. How was it that even thousands of miles away she could manage to make his heart stop?

_"I like him already,"_ she said serenely.

Dom dropped his plate rather clumsily onto the table, nursing his burnt fingers for a moment before answering. "Tell me it's not just because I don't like him," he teased.

_"You don't dislike him,"_ she said with authority. _ "You just don't understand him. Or maybe you understand him too well because he's like you. A perfectionist."_

_"He's not like me."_ The words rang with finality.

_"Oh?"_ She was mocking him. What she meant was, "You're in denial."

"He has no imagination. He's not a rule breaker, he doesn't push boundaries. He executes to the most perfect detail of what I've asked him to do, but he doesn't think for himself."

_"How long has it been, Dom?"_ she reminded him gently. "_Give the boy a chance. Besides,"_ this time she laughed at him again while she spoke, _"you're training him like he's going to be an Extractor. He's not. He's going to be a Point Man. And from what I hear, he's perfect for it."_

Dom had returned to the counter, leaning forward against it until his elbows were resting on it. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for teaching," he said with a hint of a smile in his own voice. "I miss you too much; I might just give up and come home."

She made a small noise of dismissal at this comment, making his smile widen as he let out a soft sigh of laughter. _"Don't you think about that!"_ her voice was firm, but still soft and gentle, as always. _"It's not long until he graduates. Then you bring him here, and I will train him."_

He straightened at this, his smile faltering. "Are you sure?"

_"Dom"_—he always felt strange at the sound of his name on her lips. Like something electric had swept through his stomach and chest_—"you're no Point Man. You couldn't be. It's just not you. You can teach him everything he needs to know to navigate the dreams. But you can't teach him to be a Point Man. No matter how hard you try."_

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

_"Bring him here, and I will train him,"_ she repeated. This time, it wasn't a suggestion.

"I love you." He meant the words so strongly he couldn't think of anything else to say.

He could hear her smile as she spoke. _"Don't give up yet, darling. I know this will work."_

There was a pause where neither of them spoke. Dom listened to the evenness of her breathing, the sound of Phillipa chattering indistinctly in the background. His heart ached with loneliness for them.

"I love you," he repeated.

_"I love you."_

Then she hung up and he stood for a moment, listening to the dial tone.

XXX

Arthur arrived on time the next morning, his school bag slung over his shoulder and across his chest, expecting this to be a long lesson. Cobb was waiting for him, standing over his desk, preparing the dream machine. The older man didn't turn around when he heard Arthur enter.

"I've decided to make a change in our plans for today."

Arthur's eyebrows lifted slightly as he listened to his mentor talk. He dropped his bag to the floor, putting his hands in his pockets (a habit he'd picked up from Cobb. He hadn't been much for it only two weeks before). Finally, the trainer turned around to face Arthur, leaning against the desk and folding his arms (something he picked up from Arthur, the younger man noted with the faintest of smiles).

"Today we test you in the maze."

"The maze?" Arthur repeated quizzically.

Cobb nodded. "I'm going to see how well you were paying attention to your lessons thus far."

"How?" he was beginning to get ever so slightly nervous. He shifted his weight onto one foot. It was a pose Cobb hated; it made the younger man only look more defiant, like he was trying to prove he was at ease under pressure.

"Have a seat," the older man said coolly. "Let's strap you in and you'll see."

Fully aware that Cobb was purposefully ignoring the question, Arthur obeyed, keeping his eyes on the trainer while he sat on the edge of the cushion and pulled over a catheter to attach to his wrist. It had taken him several times to be able to attach it himself. He'd never been good with needles. But as soon as he saw Cobb's eyes on him, he forgot his fear and now he was able to do it himself with only the slightest trembling in his hands.

Immediately, he was asleep.

XXX

The building was spacious with floor to ceiling windows on one side. He recognized it immediately. It was the office building they'd used for physics training. Inwardly he groaned. He didn't have time to do much else before Cobb was standing beside him, hands in pockets, face a mask.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Arthur was pleased that only the slightest hint of impatience colored his tone.

The older man was already turning to leave. "You'll see."

Arthur opened his mouth to demand a proper answer, but no sooner had he done so than he was cut off by the sound of a gunshot.

He cursed under his breath.

"Cobb!" There was no sign of the trainer. "Cobb!"

Another gunshot. Projections were beginning to panic, running in different directions, most of them massing towards the door which, to Arthur's irritation but not surprise, were locked. They were trapped.

Remembering the design of the building, Arthur turned in the opposite direction and headed straight for the stairs. To his relief, there was no resistance as he pushed it open. He found himself on in an empty stairwell reaching up more floors than he cared to count. Quickly, he tried the door one floor beneath—the basement. It was locked. No way but up now. He started running.

He reached the third floor before he heard someone following him on the stairs. Just from the footsteps, he could tell it wasn't an innocent projection trying to find their way out. He was being chased.

_"Today we test you in the maze."_

For the first time, Arthur caught on to what that was supposed to mean. He bit back another curse and grabbed hold of the railing, waiting as the man chasing him—dressed in a black suit and carrying a gun—came up another flight. Then, he launched himself over the side of the stairs and down to the level below, just behind his tail. _The Penrose Steps, _he thought to himself, and suddenly, the man in front of him was falling. With a satisfied nod, he made his way up the rest of the stairs.

It took a lot less time to reach the roof than he'd expected. He burst through the door, surprised to find rain falling lightly as he stepped out into the fresh air. He didn't waste any time barring the door though, fully aware that there were more people following him. It didn't take long after that for him to realize he was trapped. There was no way down.

He could always jump, he knew that. He'd hit the ground and wake up back in the house, unharmed, though perhaps a little shaken. But he got the feeling that wasn't what Cobb had intended. Speaking of Cobb, where the hell was he? Arthur pushed that thought to the back of his mind, racing over to the side of building and looking down. It seemed higher from here than it had before.

For a while he tried locating a fire escape, but no luck. There was no other door, either. Just a sheer, straight fall downwards. Frustrated, he rested his hands on the ledge and looked down at the projections walking in the alley hundreds of feet below. It wasn't that wide of a gap, he thought to himself, and, as he'd been told many times in the past two weeks, "You have to rethink possible." He grimaced at his own idea, but he couldn't think of another way out. Reminding himself that this was _his_ dream, he imagined the building just twenty feet away slowly leaning in his direction, folding over like it was the Leaning Tower of Pisa. In hardly any time, the two roofs collided with a surprisingly small _chuunk_ sound, and Arthur was able to scramble onto the roof of the opposite building. He could stand straight, despite the odd angle the building was precariously tilting in. A smile spread across his face.

The door to the maze building's stairs was finally pushed open and Arthur started to run as he heard gunshots from behind. He didn't bother to look over his shoulder, knowing that would slow him down. He was feet away from the ledge of the building where he could clearly see a fire escape. His hands met metal and he was about to throw himself over the side of the building and onto the scaffolding when he was flung forward so fast he didn't have time to catch himself. He was falling and from the pain in his spine, he could tell he'd just been shot.

XXX

Gasping for breath, he yanked the needle out of his arm, barely feeling the sting of it compared to the pain in his back which he could still feel. Cobb was sitting placidly beside him, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together and held in front of him. Arthur turned his back to the older man as, with fumbling hands, he pulled out the loaded red die from his pocket and tossed it on the floor. It rolled three times and stopped with six dots facing upwards. Slowly, he reached down and picked it up, pocketing it before Cobb could get a good view.

"That wasn't bad," the trainer said by way of a compliment. "You didn't use as many tricks as I would have liked, but—"

"What the hell was that?" Arthur demanded, rounding on the older man. His voice shook, but he managed to keep his tone level and his face composed. For the most part anyway.

"I warned you this wouldn't be easy—"

"You said nothing about being shot in the back," Arthur snapped, standing and heading for the bathroom. Despite the assurance of his totem, he needed to see that there was no bullet hole, no spread of blood along his back.

Cobb stood as well, watching as the young man strode away from him. "You'll get better at it. Then you won't need to get shot."

Arthur spun around to face his back to the mirror. No blood. No sign that he'd just been shot at all. He took a shuddering breath to calm himself.

"I wasn't even armed, Cobb," he called out to the trainer.

"You're not ready to handle a gun," came the calculated reply.

Trying very hard to contain himself, Arthur emerged from the bathroom, dropping his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking, as well as to grab hold of his totem which he pressed hard into the palm of his hand.

"What was the point of all that?" he demanded. "Was I really supposed to learn something from this?"

"Did you learn something from this?" Cobb shot back.

Arthur fell silent. He knew it wasn't a rhetorical question and, though his pride was wounded at the thought of contradicting himself, he knew it would be worse not to speak.

"I shouldn't let my concept of what's possible hinder me. If I'd acted quicker I could have gotten away."

"That's a good point," Cobb agreed. He stepped over to the briefcase and snapped it closed. "I think that's enough for this morning."

"That couldn't have been more than five minutes," Arthur argued, knowing that dream time as faster than reality.

"I know, but your first maze run always shakes you up," Cobb said determinedly. "I want you to rest up for the day and come back tonight. We'll try something a little less deadly."

Knowing he couldn't win this one, Arthur turned on his heel and snatched up his bag, throwing it across his shoulders. He didn't wait for anything else from Cobb, accidently slamming the door much harder behind him than he intended. His hands were still shaking. Unable to help himself, he stopped and crouched down on the sidewalk, casting his die again for good measure. It still landed with six dots up. This was undoubtedly reality. His shoulders slumped forward and for a moment, he stayed there, unable to move himself. The pain in his back was still dying away. It had been so real. He wasn't sure he would be able to take the rest of this day in stride now. Finally, he straightened and, trying his best to walk upright and unaffected, he headed straight for the park. He'd skip classes today; he needed a chance to calm himself down before he went back there again that night.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Cymru na Alethaira for their dedication to this story. Your reviews are really keeping me going! Thanks so much! To all those not reviewing, please do. I take reviews extremely seriously. I respond to each one and honestly take to heart what I'm told in a review. So please, any comment, criticism, or ideas for further plot are more than welcome. I want to know what you think!

Chapter 5

He stood with his eyes closed, his hands wrapped tightly around the handle of the gun he was pointing straight ahead. Once again, he was trembling, but this time, he was the one in control. He was the one with the gun. His aim was perfect, and within a second of closing his eyes, he squeezed the trigger. By now he was used to the pull of the gun after a shot. The feeling was almost comforting, like he could tell himself it was just target practice. He'd been doing it for weeks. The gun was familiar in his hands. He opened his eyes.

It was the first man he'd ever killed.

He was perfectly aware that it was a projection, that this wasn't much more than a video game or virtual reality. But the man was still dead at his feet. Arthur took a deep, steadying breath.

"It gets easier." Cobb stood only a few feet behind him and his voice sounded small to Arthur after the noise of the shot. "The first one's always the hardest."

"That was a person," Arthur pointed out coolly. "Not some target."

"I know. And you know it's not real," Cobb reminded the younger man.

Arthur wasn't as sure. Slowly, he pulled out his totem, rolling it in his fingers. Immediately he could feel the difference. The weight was gone. It was just a regular die. He pocketed it and returned the safety button to its proper place.

This was his third time in the maze. It had been weeks since his first try; weeks that he'd spent learning to shoot and drilling everything he'd been taught up to that point. His aim was steady, and he had picked up the gun far faster than he had dream physics. It wasn't exactly something he was proud of. He was, however, sensitive of the fact that shooting people was a part of the deal. He was also sure that the next time would be easier, and that it would get progressively more so as he went.

"I think our time is just about up," Cobb spoke again. Arthur barely responded with the slightest incline of his head. He could feel the effects of the dream beginning to wear off.

In just moments, he was opening his eyes. He sat up and removed the catheter. Cobb did the same, sitting opposite him in the other overstuffed chair.

"You did well today, Arthur," Cobb offered in very un-Cobb-like fashion. Arthur nodded, not looking at the older man. He wondered if the compliment stemmed from his own issues with shooting people, even dream people, after all his years doing this. Somehow, he doubted it. "We'll continue tomorrow, this time without the dreams."

This caught Arthur off guard. "What?"

"We've had enough of this for awhile," Cobb said, jerking his thumb to indicate the silver briefcase. "Tomorrow we'll practice some self defense."

"I thought that's what we've been doing," the younger man said, standing as Cobb did.

"I'm talking about without the gun," the trainer replied steadily. "There's more to fighting extractors than just shooting them."

Arthur didn't answer, just watched as Cobb replaced the needles in the briefcase.

"Bring something you don't mind sweating in," the older man warned as he finished, latching the briefcase closed.

With that, he headed to the kitchen and, as quickly as he could, Arthur stood, threw his bag over his shoulder, and left, hands now perfectly still.

XXX

Graduation was drawing closer with each day. It was still more than two months away, but it seemed like a bright light at the end of a long and dreary tunnel. Arthur was more than ready to graduate. The dream sharing had taken over his life in the past few months; his grades had taken a dip—a barely noticeable dip, but a dip nonetheless—and his social life had dropped completely. He spent every waking hour that he wasn't in class or hurriedly finishing homework practicing with Cobb or drilling himself on things he'd already learned. Every night, after he got back from training, he would run over what he'd just been through, reliving his mistakes in the maze or practicing whatever block or punch he had learned that day.

Self defense, much like shooting, had come naturally. Arthur was a runner, lean and lithe, and he enjoyed the excuse to be exercising daily. His arms were black and blue from learning to block Cobb's attacks, but he could feel himself improving every day. It would have been easy to practice in the dreams, where the bruises would disappear as soon as he returned to the real world, but for some reason, both he and Cobb preferred to be in reality while they did physical training.

He was on his way to the house as he thought about all of this. Dressed in sweats and a T-shirt with a change of clothes for school in his bag, he was ready for a morning of training. It was the highlight of his day, most of the time. Because unlike in the dreams, he could feel his success. It made him feel awake and relaxed by the time he was in class, keeping him much less jittery than dream sharing in the morning had.

The door, as always, was open. It didn't bother him that Cobb was not waiting for him—most days he wasn't. He dropped his bag by the door and dutifully moved the overstuffed chairs up against the wall, making plenty of room to practice. Then, feeling restless that morning, he began to warm up. He didn't hear the trainer approach.

In a second, the older man had Arthur falling to the floor. A foot hooked around his leg then jerked up, bringing his feet out from under him as a shove sent him floor ward. He hit the ground but caught himself in a push-up position, stopping his head from cracking on the hardwood. He rolled to the side, barely dodging the trainer's kick. Quickly he scrambled to his feet and snapped into fighting stance, hands up and ready to protect his face, feet spread apart to keep his balance.

Cobb swung at Arthur's head, missing as Arthur ducked, and then at his stomach and chest in quick succession. Arthur grunted as a fist connected with his chest, but managed to block the hit to his stomach. His breathing was coming rapidly now, but he was still calm, mind clear, in control of the situation. While keeping his eyes on his opponent, he managed to scan the room, looking for anything Cobb would use to his advantage. Aside from the chairs and the desk and Arthur's backpack, the room was empty.

Suddenly, Arthur was jolted out of his scan of the room as the older man leapt forward, grabbing him by the shirt and trying to push him backwards to the ground. Arthur stepped back, dodging the foot meant to keep him from doing just that. Precariously keeping his balance, Arthur snaked his hand up under Cobb's arms and struck him hard in the solar plexus, just under his sternum. Cobb immediately let go of him, stumbling over to the desk gasping for breath. Taking his chance, the student moved in, prepared to knock Cobb to the floor, when without warning the trainer brought the desk chair up over his head, swinging it at Arthur. He managed to dodge the attack, but just barely. He tripped over his feet in the process but kept himself from landing too hard. Using the fall as much to his advantage as possible, he kicked Cobb's feet out from under the older man as he was about to stand. Cobb crashed to the ground next to him.

He let out a grunt as he hit the floor. Immediately, he threw out a knee, trying to catch Arthur in the stomach, but the younger man scrambled to his knees. Cobb kicked out again and Arthur caught the trainer's foot between his hand and side, pinning it. The older man flipped over his trailing leg, thumping Arthur in the head, knocking him off his knees. Somehow, the Point-Man-in-training managed to keep hold of Cobb's first leg, stopping the older man from getting to his feet. But he was now on his back, exposed. They struggled for a moment, each trying to get the advantage. Then, rolling over and dragging Cobb with him, Arthur managed to get onto his knees again, this time pining Cobb down, his hands around Cobb's throat.

"Nicely done," Cobb said when Arthur relaxed his hands enough for him to speak.

"Thanks." He stood, releasing his trainer and helping him to his feet.

It was a common and fairly easy exercise. Rarely was Arthur taken by surprise like that, but otherwise the fight had not been extraordinary. If anything, it had been shorter than others.

Cobb rolled his head on his neck, then rolled his shoulders, stretching himself a little. Arthur watched him patiently, wondering, with good reason, if the trainer was waiting for another opportunity to attack. It didn't take long. Within seconds, Cobb was on the ground, swinging his foot at Arthur's legs. The fight resumed in full force and both men forgot to watch the clock as the practiced stretched on through most of the morning. It wasn't the first, or the last time that Arthur simply didn't go to class for a day.

XXX

His own dreams were starting to fade. They became few and far between, one every few weeks, then, after almost six months of training, they stopped altogether. He slept less, waking early and staying up late. The dream training was far from relaxing, but it was still REM sleep, which was all his body needed to keep him going. He was mentally and often physically exhausted, but he was functioning regularly. He didn't even miss it, really. Dreams weren't that important to him, and the dreams he shared with Cobb were so much more vivid and real than anything he had ever experienced it. There really was nothing quite like it.

A small part of him feared that he was developing an addiction, but he brought this up with Cobb who quickly settled his worries.

"It's not an addiction," Cobb said firmly, his back to the Point-Man-in-training. He was packing away the medications and wires from their last dream run. "Some people do get addicted. But that happens only after years, or excessive use."

"This isn't excessive use?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"No."

There was a pause. "Why not?" Arthur pressed.

The briefcase clicked shut with a heavy snap of finality. Cobb lifted it off the desk and turned to face Arthur who was leaning against the wall, arms folded. It took a moment longer before Cobb finally answered.

"You haven't used this for more than ten minutes at a time, separated by hours of reality. You don't use it to induce dreams at night in replace of your own dreams, just as a tool. There's actually a difference." Arthur's eyebrows crawled upwards slightly, a question. "Your mind recognizes the use of the induced dreams as different from pleasure. If you were using it just for fun, you'd start needing it much faster."

"Hmm," Arthur said with interest. "That's…something."

"The brain is an incredible tool," Cobb agreed.

"So…will I ever get addicted?" He couldn't help the slight nervous tilt upward in his voice.

The trainer was shaking his head. "I honestly don't think so. You'll stop dreaming eventually, but if you monitor yourself, you shouldn't ever develop an addiction."

"I already have stopped dreaming."

The two men's gazes met. Arthur's was steady and questioning, Cobb's full of an expression the younger man couldn't name. Suddenly, Cobb broke eye contact and shrugged, the motion tight on his shoulders.

"It was bound to happen."

Arthur peeled himself from the wall. "How long has it been since you dreamed?" It was an innocent enough question, but he could see the older man stiffen. The motion was so slight, Arthur was almost unsure he'd seen it. And when Cobb spoke again, his voice was too even to give away his discomfort.

"A long time."

He wanted to ask, why the elusive answer, but he knew better than to push. Somehow, that was a very personal thing for Cobb, maybe because he was himself addicted to the self induced dreams. But Arthur was almost positive that wasn't so. He'd never seen any signs that his trainer was needy in terms of the dreams, in fact it was often Cobb that suggested they break from dream sharing. Yet there it was, the obvious uneasiness when it came to his own dreams.

"Is it hard?" Arthur finally asked. "Not having dreams, I mean?"

Cobb put the briefcase down, placing one hand in his pocket, the other lifting to point momentarily at his student. "You tell me."

"Not yet," Arthur admitted. "But I think I'll miss it eventually."

"Good answer."

They fell silent again. Conversation between the two of them was minimal, especially when it didn't have to do with training. In fact, Arthur realized, he hardly knew anything about Cobb. He knew that Cobb had been trained by Miles, that he was naturally a dream architect, and that he'd gone into anti-extraction because he was so captivated by the architecture that could only ever exist in the dream world, that he could never be satisfied with regular buildings. He also knew that he was married. Aside from that, they'd never talked about Cobb's personal life. From what Arthur could tell, Cobb didn't _have_ one, other than with his family. This wasn't entirely a surprise. What social life Arthur had was now completely gone. He was too concerned with his dream training. That was part of what had bothered him, making him worry that he was developing an addiction. Cobb, however, was convinced that his student was safe from that, which was enough for Arthur.

As if to prove that he was uncomfortable with the silence, Cobb suddenly gave Arthur a dismissing nod and said, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right." Arthur picked up his bag and headed out. He could hear the click of the lock behind Cobb. They walked side by side for a moment, again in silence.

"So," Arthur started awkwardly. Cobb wasn't one for starting a conversation. "What happens after I graduate."

"I've done about all that I can with you. You're going to need more training, but not from me."

"What do you mean?" He was surprised by the disappointment he felt at that statement. Despite everything, Cobb was a good trainer and Arthur trusted him. He wasn't sure he would be willing to let someone else take the reins.

"I'm not a Point Man, Arthur," Cobb pointed out. "I can teach you how to navigate the dream, how to protect yourself and how to deal with extractors. I can even teach you how to be an extractor. Or an architect. But from here on out, you need to be taught by someone who knows what it means to be a Point Man."

"And that would be?" He could hear the distrust in his own voice. Luckily, it wasn't too profound.

"The same Point Man I used before I found you."

Arthur's suspicions melted away. "Who's that?"

Cobb had reached his car and he turned to face his Point-Man-in-training. A smile was tweaking the corners of the older man's mouth as he answered.

"My wife."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's taken the time to review. I take reviews extremely seriously. I respond to each one and honestly take to heart what I'm told in a review. So please, any comment, criticism, or ideas for further plot are more than welcome. I want to know what you think!

To coughingcolours: Watch out for something in this chapter especially for you. :)

Chapter 6

There wasn't going to be any training this morning. They'd agreed on that the night before, much to Arthur's disappointment. He'd tried to assure his mentor that he really wasn't concerned with graduation, that he'd rather spend the day practicing and drilling, but Cobb would have none of it.

"Believe it or not," the trainer had finally said when he was tired of trying to convince Arthur through other means, "I need the occasional break. I'm surprised you don't feel the same. But whether or not you want to train tomorrow, I certainly don't. I'm exhausted."

It had been raining that night and Cobb offered to drive Arthur to his apartment. They'd ridden in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. It had been months since Cobb had seen his wife, and Arthur was sure he was eager to be heading home—on the first flight out of Paris the morning after graduation—but the Point-Man-in-training was also extremely focused on his own feelings about upcoming events. Graduation meant little to him now. He'd spent so much time over the past months anticipating the freedom of being able to completely dedicate himself to becoming a Point Man that he'd hardly thought about school. Somehow he'd kept his grades up fairly high and his professors had hardly noticed a change in him. But Arthur knew that his life was about to be irrevocably changed. And after graduation, as he and Cobb flew to LA together, he would take the first step towards that new life. It thrilled him to the point of finding all other things unimportant and unnecessary.

They pulled up to Arthur's apartment and Cobb parked, but did not turn off the engine.

"Thanks." The word sounded dull in the quiet of the vehicle.

"Don't mention it," Cobb said as though he meant the words literally.

Arthur's hand froze on the door handle. For a moment, he hesitated, then, turning to his trainer he said, "Are you going to be there tomorrow?" He didn't have to say where, they both knew.

"Do you want me there?" Cobb asked after a short pause. He looked at his student for the first time.

"Yes." The answer was both a surprise and completely natural coming from his lips.

The older man turned back to the wheel. "Then I'll be there."

Cobb said no more, so Arthur opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Before he could close the door behind him, he heard Cobb call after him.

"Congratulations, by the way."

Arthur nodded, the rain already making his hair fall wet and stringy into his eyes. "Thanks."

He shut the door with a _thud_ and watched as Cobb pulled away. For a moment, he stood in the street, watching the rain turn yellow as it streaked past the streetlights. He wasn't sure why he was so happy with Cobb's response, but he was and even soaked through and freezing, he couldn't keep from smiling.

It was six AM, the morning of graduation. He lay in bed, listening to the clock on his bedside table. Its tick was distinctive and very clearly a fraction of a second slower with each proceeding tock. Months had passed since he'd cared that the clock had fallen into disrepair. He no longer woke to an alarm. His sleep was too uneasy for him to need one.

Dawn was turning the sky grey. He also never pulled down his blinds. The sight of the sun rising had become familiar and he was always up before the increased light could wake him. Birds chirped brightly outside his window. A car horn squawked in protest of another driver's lack of skill a few hundred meters from his building. The couple upstairs was just now waking, the husband showering in preparation for work, the wife slowly making her way to the kitchen. They left their window open as well, and the sounds of running water and clanking pans were distinct above the noise of the city. Arthur lived in a fairly quiet portion of Paris, but the city never seemed to stop going, even for a second, and if he closed his eyes and listened, he could always tell what part of Paris was still awake.

His observation skills had dramatically improved over the past six months. Before he'd started dream sharing he didn't even know that it was a young couple with a baby on the way living above him. He hadn't noticed that his street harbored a poor girl who was in an abusive relationship she was afraid to break out of. He'd been oblivious to the fact that his landlord had a daughter that snuck out at night to see her boyfriend. It had escaped his attention that on his way to the college every day, the same old woman sat on the same bench in the park, feeding the same lazy pigeons. The name of the man who ran his favorite coffee shop had been a mystery. His own wallpaper had seemed bland and forgettable when, in reality, it was merely made up of a tiny pattern only noticeable to those that took the time to pay attention.

Slowly, he rose.

Immediately, he went to the end of his bed, the most open space in the room, and spread his feet evenly for balance, raising his hands to protect his face. Then, as he did every morning, he ran through the defenses that had become second nature to him over the past months of constant practice. He felt his tense muscles relax as he went through the motions of self defense. Automatically, his mind began to focus more inward and he reflected on the power he had developed in such a short amount of time. When he had first started, there was hardly any force behind his attacks; now he could feel his own increased strength simply by blocking invisible enemies, warming himself up for the day. He had been fine tuned to be almost a machine in his movements. The simplicity of it, the regularity of it, allowed him to settle into a calm preparedness for what was to come. Despite his lack of feelings towards graduation to that point, he was beginning to feel the stirrings of nerves in his stomach. As he stretched and practiced that morning, the knot began to dissipate and he forgot that he had ever been worried about anything.

His self-training went longer that morning than usual. He took his time; there wasn't anywhere he needed to be. But eventually he did finish and dragged himself to the shower. As he dressed, he noticed the numerous bruises, popping out in every color from the banana-like brown of a healing wound to the deep purple of one just recently received, in several places along his arms, back, and stomach. It was a prominent reminder that what he was getting himself into wasn't going to be easy. But the discolorations didn't make him think twice about his chosen path. Rather, they made him feel all the more certain that he wanted to continue. In the dream world, those bruises wouldn't exist. He'd be able to fight, even die, and wake up unharmed. Just practicing that morning had made him feel settled, grounded, and he knew that he wanted that to be true for many years to come.

He finished dressing and, ignoring breakfast, he headed out the door. This was going to be his last day in Paris. He wanted to say good-bye.

That evening, Arthur found himself standing in front of his closet, looking at the only suit he owned. Just a year ago, he'd been nominated for an academic award of fairly prestigious proportions. The dinner he'd attended—in which he received the award, winning out over a very noteworthy group of competitors—had been very chic. For the occasion he'd had to go out and buy a brand new suit since he had never needed one up to that point. At least, not since his undergraduate graduation. That one he'd rented.

For some reason, he'd always been partial to three-piece suits. They suited him, though he couldn't explain why. He liked the professional feel and the simultaneous uniqueness of them. It had been a battle to find one at all. The salesman had tried to discourage him from getting one altogether.

"A three-piece suit, Monsieur, is out of style. It is like the double-breasted suits. No one wears them anymore. Perhaps you'd prefer a tailored suit in one of our many stylish colors?"

Eventually, Arthur had won out, insisting on a tailored three-piece made to his specifications. It had cost a bundle, but there was some satisfaction in spending his step-father's money frivolously. If he was going to spend it at all, that was the way he preferred it.

He dressed quickly, then combed his hair so that it didn't fall into his eyes. That was another one of the things he rebelliously insisted upon. His step-father wore his hair cropped neatly and as close to perfect as an individual could. One of Greg's pet peeves was shaggy hair. While it had never been one of Arthur's preferred styles either, he couldn't help but let his hair grow out until it fell across his forehead and over his ears at least a little. It had been that way since his step-father moved in with him and his mother at the end of Arthur's senior year of high school. Despite all of Greg's attempts to coax his step-son into a haircut, Arthur was unmoved.

Completely ready, he allowed himself a look in the mirror. Even after everything he'd been through in the past six months, he still seemed every bit the same as he had been before. The only differences physically were covered by his expensive suit, and to the rest of the world, he looked just the same as he always had. Somehow, that thought was a disappointment.

Arthur's salutatorian speech was hardly exceptional. Most people might have even called it forgettable. At least, most people not listening for the subtle hints at the change that had come over him in the past six months. From what Cobb knew, Arthur would have been valedictorian if he hadn't come into the young man's life. But he could tell just by looking at his future Point Man that there wasn't the slightest bit of remorse in his mind at that fact. Arthur clearly was focused solely on his new life in anti-extraction. Every once in a while, he'd drop a comment about dream sharing that only Cobb and Miles understood. But that was the way Arthur had intended it to be, the trainer could tell. He couldn't help but smile to himself as he listened to his student talk, knowing that out of everyone there he was the only person that fully understood the intent that the young man was trying to get across.

The rest of the ceremony seemed a total waste, but Cobb managed to stay awake. He was genuinely proud of Arthur, and he felt obligated not to fall asleep during his pupil's graduation. To his surprise and almost disappointment, he realized he'd never before heard Arthur's last name until he was called up to get his diploma. It showed a lack of attention to detail on his part that was uncharacteristic of himself. He made a mental note not to let such an obvious slip happen again.

Finally, the graduates all stood and tossed their caps into the air, a shower of navy blue hats raining down amidst cheers from both the students and audience. Cobb rose silently with the rest of the crowd, applauding with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. Everyone began to disperse, searching for their specific graduate. For a moment, Cobb let them wander away from him, standing in place and waiting for Arthur to come to him. He knew the boy would and he was not surprised when he saw Arthur pushing his way through the crowd in his direction. The soon-to-be Point Man stopped only once to shake Miles' hand, and at that point, Cobb finally stepped out of his row and wandered over to meet them.

"Congratulations," he said simply, lightly clapping Arthur on the shoulder with the hand that wasn't resting in his pocket.

"Thanks."

Arthur met his gaze only briefly, then turned to look back at Miles. Cobb couldn't blame him. Neither of them was meant for open affection.

"Arthur?"

The three men's conversation stopped instantly. Out of the corner of his eye, Cobb noticed Arthur stiffen.

"Arthur!"

It was a woman's voice, mellifluous while simultaneously stiff with the awkwardness of a long separation. The graduate turned slowly on the spot and, his face expressionless, straightened to meet the stranger.

"Mom."

Or not so much of a stranger.

Cobb turned to examine the woman. It took only a second to notice the similarities between her and Arthur. They had the same dark hair, though hers was pulled back in an elegant French knot, streaks of grey giving her a more sophisticated look. And their eyes were the same, dark and intense. Her features were severe in a very focused way, though he could see that when she wasn't so uncomfortable, they would become soft and attractive. Arthur had the same way of seeming harsher in his appearance than he actually was.

"I didn't think you'd come." Arthur's voice was flat and emotionless. Cobb watched with interest as his student's eyes narrowed when they fell upon the man his mother was with. "Greg," he said with a very stiff nod in the man's direction.

"Arthur." Cobb noted the territorial hand that "Greg" placed on Arthur's mother's back.

"Of course I'd come, Arthur," his mother said with the slightest twinge of disappointment in her voice. "You did invite me…I thought you'd want me to come."

"No, I'm glad you did." It sounded false.

In this time, Cobb had taken in more of the new comers' appearance. Both Arthur's mother and Greg were dressed expensively and professionally. It was evident that they had a good deal of money, though that was evident simply from the fact that they were willing to fly all the way to Paris for Arthur's graduation and not see him until that night. To Cobb, that would have been almost a wasted trip. He also could see in the mother the same upward tilt of her chin that had first caught Cobb's eye when he met Arthur. They were very similar, that was clear.

There was a very loud silence that followed. Cobb shifted his weight awkwardly, exchanging a glance with Miles who seemed equally uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, who is this?" Arthur's mother asked in a polite but condescending tone, turning to face the trainer.

"My name is Mr. Cobb and it's a pleasure to meet you," Cobb said, smiling without the expression reaching his eyes. He held out his hand.

"Mrs. Rutherford," she said in a clipped and professional tone, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. Cobb noticed that her name was not the same as Arthur's. "This is my husband, Arthur's step-father." That must be it.

"Gregory Rutherford," said the step-father dutifully. He took Cobb's hand a lot less confidently than Mrs. Rutherford had, though it was clear he was an upstanding businessman, used to new encounters. It was also clear, however, that the awkwardness of the situation had ruffled Rutherford's feathers.

"And you are?" Mrs. Rutherford said, turning to Miles.

"Uh, Professor Miles, Ma'am." The professor shook her proffered hand, looking extremely surprised he'd been noticed. "I introduced Arthur and Mr. Cobb."

"How do you know Arthur?" Mrs. Rutherford asked then, turning on Cobb sounding both curious and slightly protective.

"I've offered him a job back in the states, now that he's graduated."

"Oh, how interesting. What is it?" She didn't actually sound interested, more like disappointed that Arthur had not told her this himself.

"He'll be working in security."

"Oh." This time the disappointment in her voice was evident. "I didn't know you were interesting in that, Arthur."

"I wasn't, until recently." He folded his arms in his usual defensive movement. Cobb looked down at the ground for a second to hide his smirk. He couldn't help but wonder how much of all this Mrs. Rutherford was taking in, or if he actually knew her son better than she did.

Once again, a heavy silence settled over the group. This time, Cobb ended it quickly.

"I'm sure you have a lot to catch up on," he said with a nod in Arthur's direction. He noted with some satisfaction the look of pure venom in Arthur's eyes as he said this. "I'd better get out of your way. I'll see you first thing tomorrow, Arthur."

"Right." The word was tight with irritation.

With that, both Miles and Cobb excused themselves, leaving Arthur standing there with his parents, looking very displeased.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: First of all, I'd like to take the time to thank you all for your brilliant response to this story. Thus far, my other fic has only 54 reviews with 26 chapters after two years of being up. This story has gained in only six days 22 reviews with only six chapters up. I am blown away! After two days of absence, I came back to find my inbox flooded with alerts, favorites, and reviews for this story. That's never happened before. Also, chapter six broke my record for most reviews of a chapter ever. Thank you all so much for your support! I am humbled by your wonderful responses. Please, keep them up! They are truly inspiring!

I'd also like to give you all a heads up. In less than two weeks I'm going to be starting college. That means fewer updates and less often. I would love to keep updating as often as I have been, but from here on out I'll be lucky to get one in a week, if that. So please be patient with me. :) Thanks for the support!

Chapter 7

Arthur couldn't exactly say he was happy to see his parents there. He wasn't exactly unhappy either. His mother was a welcome sight. Despite years of difficulty in their relationship, she still was his mother and he hadn't spoken to her in years. Seeing her again was…nice. Seeing Greg, however, was not so pleasant. Especially considering that Greg was much of the reason that Arthur had stayed away for so long.

His step-father wasn't unkind, abusive, untrustworthy, or even that irritating as a person. He was, however, sadly mistaken in his role in Arthur's life. Arthur had been eighteen when his mother married Greg, and determined to be his own person. For years he'd been the only man in the house and Greg had been an unwelcome addition. Being born into a family that was so all around successful that any form of nonconformity was completely unacceptable had made Greg very sure that it would be his role as Arthur's new father to guide his step-son into the same successful path he'd been on himself. This, in Arthur's mind, was not only unnecessary, it was unacceptable. He didn't want a father. He wanted to be left alone.

Seeing Greg again after years of avoiding him had been frustrating, but he quickly recovered after Cobb left—something he was determined to hold against the trainer for all eternity—and managed to keep a calm facade as he took his parents out to dinner. Both parties tried hard to keep the conversation that night on a safe track, one that didn't involve Arthur's future or his neglect of his family of recent. Mostly they talked about Greg's business, which Arthur had zero interest in. At least it kept them talking, rather than sitting in uncomfortable silence. They parted ways awkwardly, his mother leaning in to kiss him unfamiliarly on the cheek. Greg shook his hand and they nodded at each other, unable to think of civil words of parting.

"You'll call sometimes, won't you?" his mother asked, making Arthur have to fight back a flinch at the hurt in her tone.

"Sure," he promised without much conviction. He knew she could tell he wasn't being totally sincere. Her face fell ever so slightly but she had a very controlled exterior, something he'd gotten from her. "I'll try, at least," he added finally, unable to help himself. Despite everything, he didn't want to hurt her, certainly not more than he already had.

"And you're always welcome at home," she said quickly, as though getting the words out before her resolve faltered. "Come and visit any time."

"Thanks."

She reached out and took his hand in hers, giving it a light squeeze.

"I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," he repeated. He allowed himself a small smile.

She returned it eagerly. "Have a safe flight."

"You too."

There wasn't anything else to be said. She turned back to the street where Greg was waiting with a Taxi to take them back to their hotel and, without another glance, she climbed into the cab. Arthur watched them go, raising his hand in farewell as his mother waved at him from the back seat of the car. Then, feeling like he'd eaten a rock, he climbed the stairs to his apartment and entered it for the last time.

XXX

They were at the airport bright and early the next morning. Miles was there to see them off, talking quietly to Cobb as Arthur checked in his bags and received his ticket from the smiling clerk behind the counter. She was pretty in a way, with blonde hair and blue eyes and a sweet smile. He also got the distinct impression she was flirting with him, which confused him somewhat. So he took his ticket and pushed her out of his thoughts, turning to face the two older men.

Miles gave him a warm, fatherly look. Arthur felt suddenly guilty when he realized he was far more accepting of that look from Miles than from Greg, when he knew the two men about equally. Which wasn't very well at all.

"Arthur, may I have a word with you before you go?"

"Um, sure," he agreed in surprise.

Miles placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him about twenty meters away from Cobb so that they wouldn't be overheard. Then, the old man turned to face Arthur with a look of mingled concern and eagerness on his face.

"I won't pretend that I'm not excited to see how far you'll go, Arthur," Miles began, one hand still resting on the Point-Man-to-be's shoulder. "But I can also give you a little advice before you go down this road. It's not all you think it's going to be."

"Sir?" he interrupted as politely as he could, shifting under the professor's hand.

"Once you get yourself involved in this…it's nearly impossible to stop. If you're ever going to get out easily, it's now." There was a seriousness in Miles's eyes that bothered Arthur. "So don't make this decision lightly. It will affect the rest of your life."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Arthur admitted. He glanced over Miles's shoulder to look back at Cobb. The trainer was watching them intently.

"I mean that being a Point Man will change you forever. After you become one, you can never stop being one. Even if you choose to do something else, it will always, always be a part of you." The professor looked down briefly, smiling sadly to himself as he became lost in memories for a quiet moment. "I never really stopped being an Architect," he said and Arthur knew he wasn't talking about the transition from working to teaching. "But I did eventually choose to come back to reality. To live my life in the real world. That was a hard decision, but I'm glad I made. Though, perhaps a few years too late."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. For a short time, the two men were silent, both lost in thought. Then, finally, Arthur found his voice.

"I think this is what I want, sir." He thought of his step-father, of his real father. He'd seen too many normal lives cause dissatisfaction and even pain. "I'm ready to take a little break from reality."

"Don't be too light with this, Arthur," Miles said, though he was smiling once again.

"I won't. I'm ready."

"Good." He patted the younger man's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "You and Dom will make a marvelous team. I can tell."

They walked back to Cobb in silence, then said their good-byes before Arthur and his trainer turned towards their gate. Within an hour, they were sitting in first class seats, being served drinks before they took off. Arthur looked out the window as the plane tilted upwards and raced into the sky, watching Paris shrink beneath him. He sincerely hoped he'd be back someday, but at the same time, he was ready for a new chapter in his life. And it was coming fast.

XXX

Arthur woke with a start. He was surprised to find that he'd been able to sleep at all on the plane. Usually, he couldn't no matter how hard he tried. Cobb sat next to him, staring out the window as Los Angeles came into view through the patchy clouds that they were descending into. The city was just starting to truly come alive with traffic and other activity. Flying back from Paris meant basically going back in time, and they'd hardly gained an hour of time since their takeoff from Charles De Gaulle.

He waited patiently for some sort of instruction from Cobb, but none came. The plane landed and they disembarked without so much as a word to each other. It wasn't until they were standing at the luggage carousel that Cobb even opened mouth. All he said was, "Excuse me, that one's mine," to a stranger who was hefting a plain black suitcase onto his cart which Arthur was amazed his trainer could have picked out of so many others exactly like it. They exited the building and Cobb hailed a cab.

Once they were situated inside, Arthur could wait no longer. He turned to the older man, mouth open and ready to protest, when suddenly Cobb began to speak.

"I've made a reservation for you at a hotel, we're going there now. You'll stay there until we can find you an apartment." He didn't look as Arthur as he spoke. His eyes were scanning the city as it rushed past his window, as if he were looking for something in particular.

Suddenly Arthur couldn't speak. He closed his mouth in a hard line and waited for more.

"Then," Cobb continued after a short—but still far too long for Arthur's taste—silence, "we start training again. We have a lot of work to do before you're ready to pull an actual job but now that we're back in the states it's only a matter of time before someone makes an offer."

"What does that mean?" Arthur couldn't help but demand.

The trainer shifted in his seat, pulling at the lapels of his jacket to straighten it as he turned to face his student. "It means that now that I'm back, I'm bound to attract attention. People will want me to train their minds against Extraction. But I can't do that without a Point Man."

Arthur nodded. He hadn't realized there was a time limit to this.

"That doesn't mean there will be job offers right away," Cobb continued. "But they will come. And the sooner you're ready to get officially started, the better. Especially," he said with a tone to his voice that Arthur couldn't interpret, "since anti-Extraction is still fairly unknown. Turning down a job offer in a business like this could be…"

"The end of your career?" Arthur prompted when Cobb didn't finish his sentence.

"Let's just say 'detrimental' for now," the trainer suggested, looking out the window once more.

Again, silence filled the cab.

This time it lasted until they'd arrived at Arthur's hotel—a four star that didn't stand out, but clearly would be pleasant enough accommodations for the time being. Cobb asked the driver to wait for them, slipping what Arthur thought was an extra large tip to the man just before they headed inside.

"Sure thing," the cab driver said with a grin. He settled back in his seat, making himself comfortable.

The ease with which they checked into the hotel showed just how much Cobb had been doing this lately. He kept one hand in his pocket at all times, the other rested on the counter, giving him a look of effortlessness that almost made Arthur jealous. Cobb got the keys and led the younger man to the elevator. He pushed the button marked 7, and up they went, the quiet made more obvious by the elevator music. It was the first hotel Arthur had been in with elevator music. The doors slid open and with sure steps, Cobb strode off in the direction of Arthur's room. Deftly he unlocked it and held the door open for Arthur to place his things inside. Then, he spoke again.

"You can unpack later. We have a taxi waiting."

Arthur got the feeling that that cab driver would have waited for a week before he gave up on them, but he didn't argue. He dumped his things on the bed and, turned to follow Cobb out.

XXX

Arthur couldn't explain the feeling in the pit of his stomach as he mounted Cobb's front steps. It wasn't fear—he'd become familiar with fear over the past six months, and being faced with a bullet to the stomach was very different from meeting your boss's wife. And it wasn't excitement, because there was too much of him that was used to the idea of Cobb as his trainer and he was almost reluctant to change things now. And yet it wasn't reluctance either. It was an unnamed sensation that made him wordless as he stood beside Cobb, watching the door open as if in slow motion.

The sound of a child gabbing in some distant room was the first thing that greeted them as they entered. It was followed quickly by the soft voice of a woman, and the smell of breakfast wafting back to them. To his surprise, Arthur realized he was starving. Airplane food had never appealed to him.

There was a click as the door closed behind them. For some reason, it seemed to echo in the hall and suddenly everything was silent in the house.

"Dom?"

Cobb had dropped his bags and was heading straight down the hall. Arthur hesitated for a moment before following.

"Dom?" They reached the end of the hall just as she turned the corner. Arthur's heart beat a little faster.

She was beautiful. Her hair fell in soft, perfect dark curls that framed her heart shaped face, bouncing lightly above her shoulders when she stopped so suddenly. Dark eyes and lashes made her eyes the focus of her features. They shone with excitement and—was she actually nervous? Her lips parted slightly, not exactly in a smile, and she took a deep breath as she saw them.

"Mal," Cobb said softly, stepping forward.

For a moment, she watched him with a serious expression in her lovely face. Then, almost tentatively, she stepped into his arms, leaning her head against his chest. He kissed her forehead lightly.

Suddenly, Arthur felt as though he was intruding. It had been six months since he'd met Cobb. That meant six months that his trainer had spent away from his wife and child. The stirrings of guilt replaced the unnamed feeling in his stomach. Though he knew it didn't make things better, he looked away, trying to give them some space.

"He's exactly like I imagined him." Her voice brought Arthur out of his thoughts.

She was standing next to her husband, her arms around his waist. Her eyes scrutinized Arthur, looking him up and down, but mostly focusing on his face. He couldn't bring himself to move at all, trapped by her gaze.

"He'll need work." She tilted her head to one side as she spoke. "But I like him already."

This time, he managed to shift his weight awkwardly.

"Don't get too attached just yet," Cobb warned, steering her towards the kitchen. "You haven't tried to teach him anything."

Arthur didn't know whether to feel insulted or flattered by the first statement from Cobb that might have been mistaken for affection. He stood there silently, unsure what to say. Finally, he followed the Cobbs as they headed to the kitchen.

"He doesn't say much, does he?" Mal asked, already dishing up a plate for her husband.

"Normally, I can't get him to stop asking questions," Cobb replied, having a seat at the kitchen table.

"Sit down, Arthur," Mal said. She smiled at him and he immediately obeyed.

Cobb let out a small laugh—the first one Arthur had ever heard from him. "I've never seen him so compliant."

"Well," she said, placing a plate in front of Arthur, "That's not a bad thing."

He took the plate and, picking up his fork, began playing with his food.

"You're going to have to learn to speak a little more than that, if I'm going to teach you anything." Mal was leaving the kitchen, looking over her shoulder as she spoke.

Soon, it was just Arthur and Cobb alone in the kitchen. They ate in silence and Arthur was left to think about how he was completely unsure of what was happening.

XXX

A/N: I'm really interested in your opinions about Mal. Please review if you liked her. Or review if you didn't. Either way, I'm a little nervous about her so please let me know!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: Wow guys! I really am so thrilled by the response to this story. Thank you so much! I am the happiest writer on because of you guys :) Please keep up the reviews and, as always, keep reading. There's good stuff to come! And thanks to those of you who wished me luck in my college adventure. You guys are awesome.

Chapter 8

Mal returned a few minutes later, this time with a little child in her arms. Arthur had finished eating and stood, turning to meet his new trainer.

"This is Phillipa," Mal said, trying to make the little girl turn and look at him. She bounced her in her arms and whispered something to the girl in French. Arthur could only make out one word—friend. "Phillipa…this is Arthur. Can you say Arthur?"

The little girl finally turned her face to look at him. She was small for her age which seemed to be about two, maybe a little younger. It was clear from the very quick look he got of her that she was the exact middle ground of her parents. Her hair was short, blonde, and full of perfect curls like her mother's. The color, though, just like her bright eyes, she got from her father. He had to take all this in very quickly as she buried her face in her mother's shirt as soon as her eyes met Arthur's.

"I'm sorry," Mal sighed, wrinkling her nose at her daughter, who giggled and placed her tiny little hand over the offending object. "She's just shy."

"That's okay." He shrugged lightly and took a few tentative steps forward. "I'm a little shy today myself."

Phillipa braved a quick glance in his direction, her face still mostly burrowed into her mother's blouse. He flashed a smile at her before she turned away again.

"Well if Dom will take Phillipa, you and I can get better acquainted," Mal said, striding over to her husband and handing over the little girl. As the child changed hands, Arthur noticed Cobb run his knuckles along the inside of Mal's arm. Once again, he felt like an intruder on such an intimate moment.

Mal turned back to give him a quick smile and, with only a few sure steps, she was by his side, steering him into the living room. Arthur glanced back over his shoulder in time to see Cobb lifting his daughter into the air. Phillipa squealed with delight.

"Make yourself at home," Mal instructed, indicating the couch as they entered the living area. For the first time, Arthur noticed just how nice their house was.

"Thank you," he said, forcing himself to answer. He sat on the edge of the cushion, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands crossed in front of him.

Mal walked over to a desk in the corner, opening drawers and removing files.

"So what is it that Dom's taught you?" She didn't look up at him when she spoke.

"Dream physics. Self defense. Mostly navigating the dream." He watched her with interest as she stacked the files and tapped them on the desk's surface to straighten them in a neat pile. "I spent a lot of time in 'the maze' as he called it."

He saw the slightest smile cross her lips at that and she let out a small breath which could have been a laugh. "Not much for six months." She looked up at him for the first time. Her gaze was piercing.

Arthur opened his mouth to defend himself, but she started again before he could say anything.

"That's not your fault," she continued, coming to stand in front of him. He had to crane his neck to look up at her. "Dom is no Point Man. He had to teach you what he could. I hope you've gotten good at it."

All Arthur could do was nod. She sat down beside him, all the way back on the couch so that he had to turn slightly to continue watching her.

"We have a lot to do still," she said firmly, giving him a significant glance through her thick lashes as she looked up from the files she was now flipping through.

"Such as?"

"Everything." She let the word hang there for a long moment.

Arthur shifted in his seat. "I'm not sure I follow—"

She looked up and fixed him with a level gaze. "You can handle yourself in a dream, but you have no idea how to actually pull a job."

"And that would be…?" He was starting to feel like he was being attacked.

"To be an actual Point Man," she stated like it completely answered his question. "Do you even know what that means?"

He couldn't help it. He broke her gaze, glancing down at his shoes for a brief moment.

"What is a Point Man?" She cocked her head to the side as she waited for his answer.

He licked his lips and fixed his eyes on the fireplace mantel instead of her. "The Point Man is the eyes and ears of the Extractor or…"

"Call him an Extractor, Arthur," she said as though she'd read his mind. "There's no real term for what Dom is."

"He's the eyes and ears of the Extractor," he repeated with emphasis. "It's his job to see everything so that the Extractor can pull the job."

"That's a very brief explanation, but yes." She leaned back into the couch and watched him with intent eyes. "But there's more to it than that. Much more."

"Like?" he prompted when she didn't continue.

"You're more than just the 'eyes and ears'." She said the words with added stress, mocking him slightly. "The Extractor may call the shots, but the Point Man _makes_ the shots. He knows them before they even happen."

There was a short but heavy silence as Arthur looked at her in confusion.

"How?"

She leaned forward again, also resting her elbows on her knees. Her face was right next to his, her eyes searching his face for a reaction as she spoke.

"The Point Man's job is to find out all there is to know about the job before it takes place. You need to know who the Mark is, what his job is, who his best friend is, who he's sleeping with. And," she added with a smile at the clear look of momentary discomfort on Arthur's face, "if his wife knows about it."

"So everything?" he asked quietly.

"Everything," she agreed. "If it could have anything to do with the job, the Point Man knows it. So when the Extractor says, we do this, he already has anticipated it. And when the Mark places his secrets somewhere safe, the Point Man knows where it is."

"You're asking me to see the future," he pointed out as lightly as possible though in reality his mind was reeling with the new information.

"I'm telling you to control the future," she corrected, a smile gracing her lips.

He straightened slightly, making him taller than her again so that he was now looking down at her as he spoke. "How?" he repeated

She looked down at her folders again, then handed them over to Arthur.

"Don't open them yet," she commanded.

"What are these?"

"Information for your first job," she said calmly. His head jerked up in surprise.

"My first job? I thought—"

"It's not official, because I'm the employer." She stood and headed over to the stereo, which Arthur noticed for the first time. "Your first lesson in how to be a Point Man can only be learned by being a Point Man. No child learns to walk without walking."

"So what am I supposed to do?" He watched her with confusion as she flipped through a book of CDs.

"I want you to perform extraction on a man named Charles Hayworth. He's a businessman involved in illegal drug trafficking." She was reading the label on a CD with a look of mild disinterest on her face. "I need to know what his plans are for the Cocaine he just bought from an underground group in Mexico."

"I thought we were in anti-extraction," Arthur interrupted.

"You can't learn how to fight something if you don't understand it." She gave him a significant look, then turned back to her CDs. With delicate fingers, she slid one out of its sleeve. "So, for your assignment, you need to plan the entire extraction. Find out everything you can about Hayworth and his job. You don't have to design the dream, Dom will do that. But everything else, you do." She placed the CD in the stereo with a click. "You must be finished in three weeks."

"I've never done this before," he reminded her.

"Everyday between two and four, you come here and I will help you. You and Dom can decide on when you want to meet. But spend as little time with him as possible. He's impatient, he'll want to do it for you."

Arthur smiled a little to himself. She knew Dom well, even his teaching methods.

"The rest is up to you," she continued. "At the end of three weeks, you present your plan to me and I will tell you if it's done to my satisfaction." She turned to face him again.

"Sounds simple enough," he said as confidently as possible, though he could tell she saw the intimidation he was feeling at this task.

"Come again tomorrow, at two, and we'll start." She said it simply as music began to pour out of the stereo. He recognized the tune at once. "Good luck, Arthur."

And with that, she left the room, leaving Arthur alone with Edith Piaf and Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien. As he followed a minute later, he could see Cobb and Mal in the kitchen, dancing to the music, Phillipa held between them. He excused himself and headed back to his hotel. He had a lot to work on.

XXX

He arrived at the hotel and immediately got to work. Pulling out the desk chair he dropped into it while sorting through the files in his hands. There were seven of them, all full. He didn't know where to start, so he began with the only natural choice: the one on the top.

Charles Hayworth. Age: 32. Hair color: Black…

He skimmed the page and then flipped on to the next one. It was a complete biography of Charles Hayworth from what he could tell. The other folders were full of information about his associates, friends, family, and still more about his business. It seemed like an endless amount of data.

For a moment, he allowed himself to feel overwhelmed. He had no idea what an extraction job normally went like. All he knew about it from Cobb was the basics—creating the world of the dream, taking the subject into the dream and allowing them to fill it with their secrets, which the Extractor then broke in and stole. How the dreams were normally set up was still a mystery to him. Dream creation had been a subject that came slowly to him. Now, he was faced with completely coming up with a plan to steal Charles Hayworth's secrets in a dream with hardly any help from Mal or Cobb. He didn't even know where to start.

It took him a few minutes to get himself back to a non self-destructive train of thought. Then, bracing himself for the task ahead, he reached into the desk drawer and removed a black pen. He uncapped it and began to read through the file in front of him, underlining as he went.

XXX

"So what do you think of him?" Dom asked as he shrugged out of his jacket later that night, enjoying the sight of his own room—his own bed—after six months.

"Of Arthur?" Mal called from the bathroom, obviously toying with him. Of course he meant Arthur. "I like him. He's quick."

Dom allowed himself a soft laugh. "Most of the time."

"And he's got this look to him…" she exited the bathroom, running her fingers through her hair. "It's very honest. Though, he's got this lift to his chin that's sort of…defiant." She pondered this for a moment. Then, "_He's a good looking kid_," she teased him in French.

"Sure," he responded blandly, taking in the sight of her.

She was beautiful. Her nightgown was long and silky and white. It made her dark hair and eyes stand out. He admired the shape of her shoulders, smooth and perfect, the curve of her arms as she played with her hair. She turned her back to him for a moment and he was awed by the grace of her—the way she stood so tall, the way her hair bounced when she spun, the way that her body seemed so perfectly designed, like she should have been an angel instead of a human being.

"Do you think he'll pick it up?" he continued lightly, forcing his eyes back to the task of undoing his tie.

"Oh, he'll pick it up," she said with a smile. She hung her blouse in the closet.

"You gave him a pretty tough task for a first time around."

She laughed. He thanked God that such a sound existed.

"Sometimes you must run before you can walk." She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes alight with excitement. "I think he can do it. I'm actually quite…hopeful." She turned back to the closet.

"Hmm," he said as he let his tie slide through his collar.

She shook her head, walking over to him with a mockingly disapproving look in her eyes. "Why are you so determined not to believe in him?"

"I'm not," he defended himself without much conviction.

"But all you can do is doubt him." Her hands slid up his chest to unbutton his shirt.

He thought for a moment before answering. His mind had gone blank for a second, and he had to force himself back to the topic at hand. "I just don't want to give him too much credit."

"You like him," she pointed out with a firmness to her voice that meant he wasn't allowed to argue. "He's a good student and you admire him for it. You just don't know how to show it."

"He's never asked," Dom informed her defensively. "He thinks he needs to prove himself to me, and I let him, because I know that's how he works."

She sighed and shook her head, though he could see her smiling. Gently, she patted his chest with one hand. "It wouldn't hurt to let him know."

"Someday," he conceded, leaning down to kiss her just below her jaw line.

"Someday soon," she corrected.

"Yes, Ma'am." His lips worked their way down her neck.

She laughed again, so softly he almost feared he hadn't heard it. Then, she slid her arms up around his neck, allowing him to pull her closer as his arms wound around her back. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her mouth. He could feel her smiling against his lips.

It had been too long, far too long, since he'd done this.

XXX

A/N: Okay, so I'm on a writing spree until I have to leave for school. But I just wanted to remind you that this won't be the case forever. In just about a week things are really going to slow down.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: I've been debating two alternate ways of handling Mal's death in this story. One option is that Arthur and Cobb are working together at the time, so Arthur is in LA when she dies. This option would mean no confrontational scene between Cobb and Arthur over Mal's death, but it would mean showing Arthur's reaction to Mal after she gets out of Limbo, as well as a very touching scene between Arthur and Cobb's family. The other option is that Arthur is working with another Extractor at the time of Mal's death. This would mean a confrontational scene between Arthur and Cobb once Arthur finds out that Mal has died including a line from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Yes, I'm a Harry Potter fan. I'd love to hear your opinions about this. There is a poll on my profile about this, so please, if you have an opinion, go vote! Or, respond in a review. Thanks!

I also can't get over the fact that I'm at 36 reviews! And after only a week! Thank you so much! You guys are so awesome! Please keep them up!

Chapter 9

Arthur was amazed at how exhausted he was when he arrived at the Cobb's house the next afternoon. He'd stayed up late reading, and then once he'd finally fallen in bed he'd been unable to think about anything but the job. The next morning, he immediately set to work again. It had come as a complete surprise when it was half past one, and he had to quickly gather all his folders and notes, stuffing them into his bag as he raced out of the hotel in search of a cab. He'd reached the Cobb's residence just as his watch beeped a gentle reminder that it was two o'clock.

He took a quick moment to straighten his shirt and take a deep breath before knocking on the door. It took a few seconds, then the door was pulled back to reveal Mal looking just as stunning as the day before, though today she seemed much more professional and much less like a stay at home mother. Her hair was swept back from her face in a simple twist and she was dressed in a white blouse and a clean-cut grey skirt.

"Are you ready?" she asked, not bothering to invite him in.

"Yes," he responded quickly. He began to pull out his folders to show her the work he'd gotten done in the past hours, but Mal brushed that aside with a wave of her hand.

"You can put that away. We won't need it."

He looked up at her in surprise.

"Follow me, we should get going." She finally allowed him into the house, turning her back on him and heading for the kitchen. Arthur obeyed, though he wasn't exactly sure why he didn't demand an explanation. "We only have about two hours before Phillipa wakes up from her nap."

She held open the garage door and, feeling completely lost, Arthur entered.

"Where are we going?" he asked as calmly as possible.

"You'll see," she answered elusively.

He sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

She laughed a little as she opened the driver's side door of a very sleek silver car. "I'll bet you've heard Dom say that more than once."

"More than once," he agreed in an undertone as he sat himself in the passenger seat.

Clicking the garage door opener and backing the car out of the garage and onto the street with a smooth turn of the wheel, Mal soon had them on their way. "Well, I figure if I told you, you wouldn't be very happy with me."

"Uh oh." He watched the LA suburb slip past his window.

"Don't worry. You'll be glad we did it by the time we're done." She said it with a certainty that meant he couldn't argue. So he didn't. Besides, he had no idea what he would say to that when he had no idea what was really going on.

They drove in silence for quite a while before Mal finally spoke. "You look tired."

How could she tell that?

"Did you stay up late?" She glanced at him at the same time he looked at her. Their eyes locked for a brief moment and he could read the expression in hers easily. She already knew the answer, but he was meant to tell her anyway.

"Yes," he admitted, turning back to the window. "I was working."

"Good. What did you get done?"

"I've finished most of the reading, and taken some notes." He chanced a quick look in her direction to gauge her reaction.

"Good," she said again, seeming less than impressed despite her answer.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. Frankly, he was sort of upset. He'd worked hard in the past nearly twenty hours, and so far she wasn't the slightest bit interested in what he'd accomplished. Plus, she wasn't telling him where she was taking him or what she was going to teach him that day. Her aloofness was less than helpful.

"So, what are your first thoughts?" Her voice startled him out of his thoughts. "About Hayworth, I mean."

Arthur took a deep breath before answering, forcing his voice to remain level. "Well, he's very good at what he does. But what he does is more often illegal than not. It's amazing that he hasn't been stopped yet. It's not in any of the files, but I think he must have the police on his payroll. How else could be get away with it?"

"That's a good guess," she said with a nod. "What else?"

He thought about it for a second. "His family is as much a well oiled machine as is his business. It seems like he and his wife probably spend about two hours with each other a week, but when she's around him she knows her job and she does it perfectly." He shrugged. "She's basically an actress."

"A good observation," Mal agreed.

"I'm really not sure what you want me to tell you," he said finally, unable to keep it back any longer. "I mean, I have notes all written out about what I've been reading. But if you don't want to go over them, why are you asking me about this at all?"

To his surprise, she smiled. "You really are quick, aren't you?" She turned her brilliant smile on him and he quickly looked out the window again, frustrated with her ease and almost manipulative way of keeping him just barely in the dark. "Today isn't about what you've learned, you're right." She was once again watching the road, to his relief. "But I could tell you were dying to tell me what you've learned. So I asked. You don't have to talk about it, if you'd rather not."

He didn't answer.

"Oh," she said, pouting a little, mocking him. "Don't be like that."

He scoffed.

"We're almost there," she soothed.

Again, he didn't answer. But his curiosity was peaked. They had entered a part of town that was full of expensive looking shops and stores and he couldn't help but wonder what on earth a shopping trip had to do with Point Man training. It took some searching, but eventually they found a parting space and once again with a single smooth movement, Mal pulled them to a stop next to the curb. She exited without a word to Arthur and he obediently followed her out of the car.

"Take your pick, Arthur," she said, sweeping her hand in a wide gesture to indicate the stores that lined the street.

He looked around. Clothing stores. Men's clothing stores. Expensive ones.

"I don't get it." He gave her as skeptical a look as he could manage.

She sighed, giving him a look that only a mother could—one of mingled patience and irritation. "Arthur, appearance is as important to being a Point Man as anything else. You have to be the professional one. The Extractor is often too blunt, too focused on his task, to handle the more subtle tasks in a dream. So you must step in and be the professional." She held up her arms in an all-encompassing movement. "That's where a good suit can make all the difference."

He shifted his weight and stubbornly slid his hands into his pockets. She donned a pair of fashionable sunglasses, giving him an exasperated look over the rims before she pushed them into place.

"I can always pick, if you'd prefer. Like it or not, this is what we're doing today."

Defiantly, he strode over to the first store in reach and yanked the door open, holding it for Mal as she entered while silently fuming. Then, he entered himself and was immediately overwhelmed by what he saw.

The place was suave and clearly meant to impress upon the first glance. He'd been in one store like it before, shopping for his three-piece suit, but that had been a focused mission. This was…he wasn't even sure what this was. All she'd said was "take your pick," and now she expected him to know exactly what she wanted. He stood there motionless for a long, long moment.

"Well?" she said finally, impatience evident in her tone.

"I don't know where to start," he admitted.

Shaking her head, she steered him over to a seat (a lavish, white leather upholstered seat), forcing him to sit.

"Lesson number one in being a Point Man," she said matter-of-factly. "You dress to impress. The client will be looking for smooth manners and dress in at least one person on the team, and that has got to be you. The Extractor is too impulsive, too focused elsewhere. He can dress as fine as you please, but he'll never have the subtlety or the elegance of a Point Man."

"Are you talking about all Extractors, or just Cobb?" Arthur interjected. From what he was hearing, she was describing her husband to a tee, but how could she know what other Extractors were like?

She gave him a knowing smile. "The Extractor you're working with really is all you should be worried about." He began to argue, but she cut him off. "But, it is generally true of Extractors that they are the less sophisticated of the two. The Point Man is, almost always, the one with the charm and the style."

"I still don't understand why."

"Arthur," she said slowly, as though explaining to a child, "you're the brains behind this whole thing, yes? You're also the backbone, the one that holds everything together. And as such, you have to be the one to put on the professional look. The Extractor has the flashier job, the more dangerous job, but you," she removed her sunglasses and gave him a pointed look, "you will be the one that stands behind him and corrects all his slip ups, both in the dream and with the employer. You must be the one with the looks and style."

He didn't know what to say to that. He shifted in his chair.

"So," she continued crisply. "Where do you want to start?"

They spent the better part of an hour talking over different styles of suits and what they said about Arthur as a person and as a Point Man. Mal gave his jeans and navy blue button-up shirt a once over, looking like she was caught halfway between disappointment and approval, calculating what she thought his style was. Money wasn't an issue, obviously, but comfort was. He'd have to do everything in these suits; work, fighting, everything short of sleep.

Finally, Mal decided she knew what they were looking for and dragged a salesman over to help them. Then, it was picking out the suits and parading them for Mal to say "yea" or "nay" to. She was a harsh critic, but Arthur had to like her taste. He agreed with every decision she made, though it often meant that he had to try on a suit more than once to remind her if she really did or didn't like it. The clock was fast creeping towards four o'clock and finally Mal decided they were done.

He now had an entire wardrobe of new, professional, clothes. They seemed like a little much to him, but Mal reassured him that he only needed to wear them while on a job.

"No one will know what you look like when you're not working, so you can wear whatever you want then," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand as they climbed into the car. "Just make sure you wear them whenever you're with your employer or on a job."

They rode back mostly in silence, Arthur's mind still trying to grasp why today had been necessary. Obviously, Mal took appearance very seriously and he was starting to see why. But at the same time, he had been hoping for genuine instruction. And despite what Mal said, buying suits was not instruction in his mind. She seemed pleased with him, though, strangely enough. As though his taste in suits made up for his impertinence that morning.

"So," she said finally, making Arthur turn to look at her. "Tomorrow you come back at the same time, okay?"

"Are we going shoe shopping?" he asked sarcastically.

She shot him a warning look. "If you really wanted to, I could take you shopping for just about everything under the sun. But I decide what you do and don't need. I think you can get your own shoes now. I instructed you well today."

He couldn't help the little sigh of laughter that came from his lips before he could clamp them shut.

"You know, you and Cobb are a lot alike," he said, shaking his head.

She gave him a funny look before turning back to the road.

"What?" he demanded.

"I don't know…it's strange when you call him that."

"What—Cobb?"

"Yes," she said with a small nod. "That's my name, too, you know."

He hadn't thought of that. "Would you prefer I call him Dom?"

"When you're around me, I would," she said, smiling at the question.

"Alright, you and Dom are very much alike." He leaned back in his chair, waiting for her reaction before he continued. She remained silent and focused on the road, though he could see her lips quirk at his comment. "How long have you two been together?"

"We met…" she quickly calculated, "six years ago now. We've been married for five."

"How did you meet?" He wasn't sure where his curiosity stemmed from, but he was suddenly interested in understanding them both a little more. Cobb was such a mystery, refusing to share his feelings and desires any more than was necessary with Arthur. And Mal…she was just so unlike what he'd expected. She peeked his interest.

A look of nostalgia crossed her lovely features. She stared out at the road without seeing it, and when she spoke her voice was softer and slower than before.

"Dom was a student of architecture in Paris. My father was his professor. Eventually, he could see the potential Dom had for becoming a dream architect, so he offered to train him—"

"Wait," Arthur cut her off. "Your father is Professor Miles?" He could hear the surprise in his own voice.

She turned to give him a quizzical look. "Dom didn't tell you?"

"No." He was completely caught off guard.

"Well," she said, chuckling to herself, "he is. My father told me a lot about Dom, and at the same time he was also teaching me about how to navigate dreams. He offered to teach us both, but I wasn't interested. Dom sounded too pompous for my taste."

Arthur couldn't help but let out a short laugh which he quickly reigned in. Mal was smiling though at his reaction and even though his cheeks colored slightly, he was more relieved by her reaction than anything.

"Anyway," she started again, "one night I was out with friends. We decided to go see Paris from the top of the Eifel tower at night. We were all Parisians ourselves, but we had never done it."

Arthur recognized the Cobb's neighborhood. They were almost back, and he found himself wishing she'd drive slower. He was, for some reason, completely spellbound by her story.

"And there he was, the charming American." Her tone was far away. He watched with interest as her eyes got an almost glazed look while she spent a moment lost in thought. "My friends insisted I go speak to him, because he was staring at me," she said finally, pulling herself out of her reverie and giving Arthur a stunning smile. "So I did. And…well, it all went from there. We were taken with each other, but I hated him at the same time. I told myself a thousand times while we were dating that I'd never marry him."

They pulled into the driveway, then the garage, and finally came to a stop. There was silence in the car as they both sat there, thinking. Finally, she turned in her seat to face him.

"Come back tomorrow, we'll have another lesson."

"Should I bring my notes, or will I not need them?" He unbuckled his seatbelt and placed his hand on the door.

"Bring them, though I can't guarantee we'll use them," she said with a shrug. She opened her door and stepped gracefully out. "I'm still debating what I'm going to teach you tomorrow."

XXX

A/N: I'm a little worried that Mal was too flirtatious in this chapter. Please let me know what you think! I was going for sort of snarky/cheeky because Mal in the movie strikes me as being that way once upon a time. Anyway, this chapter was very hard to get through for some reason, though I thoroughly loved writing it, so please forgive how long it took me to update and review if you enjoyed it, or even if you didn't. Thanks!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: A special thanks to all those who voted or reviewed with their opinion about my poll! I will take all your comments into careful consideration.

I'm sorry for not updating sooner. My plan was to put up chapter ten before I left for school, but obviously that didn't happen. I apologize and I'll try to get on the ball again. It feels good to be writing, but I'm also really busy now so as I said updates will no longer be every day or couple of days. Thanks for putting up with that guys!

We have officially hit 51 reviews and 63 alerts! It took my other fic two years to reach 50 reviews and I'm only at 53 alerts for that story! Thank you so much, everyone of you who has reviewed; please, please, please keep it up! I cannot tell you how awesome you all are!

Chapter 10

The next afternoon, Arthur appeared at the Cobb's door faithfully on time. He was sporting one of his new suits, minus the jacket. His tie was loosened ever so slightly, and the first button was not done on his shirt. It was going to take him a while to get used to this lifestyle, but Mal had said that when he was with his employer he should be dressed appropriately and she was, though only for training's sake, his employer. He rang the bell and waited patiently for her to answer. To his surprise, it was Cobb who came to the door first. It was unclear to him why this should be a surprise—maybe because he assumed Cobb would be working during the day, though where he had never bothered to wonder—but he couldn't think of anything to say to the man behind the door for some time.

"That's a nice look for you," Cobb said with a hint of repressed smirk crossing his features. Arthur gave the older man a pointed glare. "Come on in, she's just putting Phillipa to bed." Cobb stepped aside to let the Point-Man-in-training inside as he spoke and Arthur slid past him wordlessly.

"Mal," Cobb called to his wife as he closed the door.

"I'll be there in a minute," she answered over the screams of a supposedly "not tired" Phillipa.

"Make yourself at home," the Extractor said, sweeping his hand to indicate the couches.

Arthur chose to remain standing. He realized it had been a few days since he and Cobb had been alone together, and neither of them knew what to talk about. Now that Mal had taken over training, they had nothing to discuss. Before, their conversations had been almost completely work related. The silence that stretched between them clearly showed that they weren't comfortable talking about anything else. Finally, clearing his throat awkwardly, Cobb turned to Arthur.

"So how's it coming?" he asked.

"Alright," Arthur replied evasively. "We should probably settle on a time to start work on the construction of the dream."

"Whenever," Cobb agreed, sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Already done with your research?" came Mal's voice as she entered the room, looking slightly disheveled from putting her almost-toddler to bed.

"Almost," Arthur admitted. "I do have some things I'd like to go over with you first though, before we start the dream construction."

"Fine," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She was heading toward the kitchen, and Arthur followed at a distance. Reaching into the cupboard and removing a bottle of aspirin, she said firmly, "I don't think we'll get to it today."

Arthur fought back the need to demand why it was she seemed opposed to helping him. Instead, he gave a very short nod, proud of himself for seeming so in control.

"Today, we learn posture." She turned to face him, a glass of water in one hand, the aspirin in the other, and a look of excitement in her pretty face.

"Posture?" he repeated incredulously. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard Cobb snort in the background.

"Mmm hmm," she said as she swallowed her pills, unable to get out anything else. She put the glass down and motioned for him to follow her into the living room.

Arthur obeyed, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Cobb returning to his study at the opposite end of the house.

Mal closed the door behind them. Then, she headed straight for the desk which she leaned up against, sitting delicately on the edge. She looked expectantly at him and he stood there stupidly, unsure what to do. Finally, he took his bag off of his shoulder and dropped it by the couch. He was about to sit, but Mal made a correctional sound very similar to the one he remembered his high school English teacher using.

"Don't sit!" she commanded. "I said we're learning posture today."

"Then what do you want me to do?" he asked, feeling a little bit exasperated by both her and her husband's seeming love of keeping him in the dark.

"I want you to stand there." She said it as though it were obvious.

With a sigh, he obeyed. He leaned his weight on one leg, which subconsciously he knew gave him the appearance of having an attitude problem, but he felt just a tad irritated at the moment and didn't really care. Mal's eyes took in his every move, however, and he could see her mentally calculating the judgments of his movements.

"So," she began, leaning back so that she had to brace herself by putting her arms behind her. It was done with flawless motion so that it seemed graceful and at ease. "You're taking to a possible employer. How do you stand when you greet them?"

It seemed like a silly thing to be teaching him, but he immediately changed his posture so he was standing straight, his arms at his sides. Within a second of the change, Mal made a disapproving noise and shook her head.

"You look like you've got a stick up your _cul_," she said sharply. Arthur didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. He understood the French, of course, but he wasn't sure if he was taken aback by it or not.

He thought for a moment, then crossed his arms, trying to look more casual.

"I cannot tell if you're trying to look like the Secret Service, or if you're sulking." She was smirking as she spoke.

His arms dropped back to his side in frustration.

"Now you're angry."

He shifted his weight.

"Nervous."

His head tilted backwards in annoyance as he rolled his eyes.

"A teenager with a temper."

It was clear she was having fun with this, though Arthur could feel his irritation mounting. "What do you think I should do then?" he demanded, pleased with how level his voice was.

She slid off the desk and came to stand beside him. "You need to seem confident without being overbearing or arrogant. How do you do that?"

He allowed himself to think before he responded. His feet spread slightly so that he wasn't standing so straight, but he wasn't leaning to one side either. Most of his weight was on his right foot, but he didn't allow himself to look lopsided. Then, remembering how he'd seen Cobb do this time and time again, he slid one hand into his pocket, letting the other rest as his side casually.

"Much better," Mal said with an approving smile. "You see," she stepped forward and pointed to the hand in his pocket, "this allows you to look at ease, like you're comfortable. And this," she tapped his free hand with her index finger, "allows you to use your hand to talk. Which is always good. It makes you seem more animated, more interesting. And your stance needs to be in control, but not stiff. This is much better."

"I really don't get why this is important," he pointed out, though he was beginning to feel less upset with her already.

"Trust me," she said with a knowing smile, "your posture can make or break your professionalism faster than your wardrobe. It's important."

Then, turning towards the desk again, she spoke to Arthur with her back to him. "Now, where are your eyes?" She sat at the edge of the desk again, watching him intently.

"My eyes?" he repeated, a little confused.

"Where do you look?" she restated the instruction, settling herself into a more comfortable position. "While you're talking to him, where should you be looking?" she continued when Arthur didn't respond.

He licked his lips as he though. "At his eyes," he said slowly, like it was a question.

She cocked her head to one side. "Why?"

"It makes you look more confident," he said without conviction.

"That's true," she agreed, "but you don't want to look intimidating, either. Make sure you allow your eyes to follow other people and things. This gives you an air of…" she thought for a moment before continuing, "You seem like you've got options that way. It makes it so you don't seem like you're overly desperate for a job. You understand?"

He nodded, though he had to think it over. It was true that seeming slightly disinterested did give you the appearance of having multiple options. But was that always a good thing?

"What if I don't have other options?" he asked finally.

"Extractors are rare and expensive," Mal said like this should be obvious. "Anyone who wants to hire _you_ is probably the desperate one. Take advantage of that, but use professionalism. Seem only slightly like you're the one actually controlling the situation. You don't want to make them feel like you'll take advantage of them or like you don't take things seriously."

He nodded again, this time responding to her advice.

"In general there are a few things you should remember about how you hold yourself while in the presence of an employer." She stood again, holding her hands together in front of her. "One, professionalism is key. Two, you must seem in control. Three, you _must_ seem relaxed." She turned to face him. "Always."

"Right," he agreed shortly.

"Now," she was pacing, but she didn't seem agitated. More like a queen inspecting her surroundings with the air of authority. "How should you be sitting?"

XXX

Mal held the door of the living room open for Arthur as their session came to a close, looking pleased with his performance that day. He was about to leave when he hesitated for a moment, thinking of all he millions of questions he wanted to ask. His trainer tilted her head to one side inquisitively, watching his expression carefully.

"What is it, Arthur?" she asked, not unkindly.

He took a deep breath and then turned to confront her. "When am I actually going to start some real training?" he demanded, though he managed to keep his voice level. "I mean, I supposed I've learned a lot these past two days but it seems completely irrelevant. I'm having to plan this job entirely on my own, but I have no idea if I'm doing it right or not."

Mal listened patiently to his rant. Then, smiling to herself, she began with a very simple phrase. "It will take time, Arthur," she said softly. "It took Dom and me years to figure out how to do things properly. We made many mistakes. But you don't have time to learn that way. I'm teaching you now all the things I'd wished I knew before I tried to be Dom's Point. Everything else…that will come. But I can't waist a moment; you have much to learn and not much time to do it in."

Arthur watched her silently. She met his gaze evenly. He couldn't tell what the tone in her voice was. It wasn't regret, or sadness, but there was a hint of much greater knowledge than he certainly had telling him that he was still new to this and she was the authority. His face flushed ever so slightly.

"I know this is not how you'd prefer it be done, but please, we must do it at my pace," she said it simply but with power.

He nodded. He didn't know what else to do.

Mal opened the door a little wider. "Dom wants to do some more dream training with you tomorrow," she said as he passed her. "He doesn't want you to get out of practice."

"Right," Arthur answered dully.

"Then, after that, you can ask me your questions and start on your dream creation." She said it like she was offering a little child a reward after patiently waiting through a tedious task.

"Right," he repeated. He felt short on words suddenly.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said. And with that she turned to walk down the hall to retrieve her crying child—a sound Arthur had only just then noticed.

XXX

A/N: This chapter is shorter than I would have liked, but this is all I can think to put in this one. The next one, I promise, will have more! 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: First of all, I'd like to thank you all, once again, for your lovely reviews. They're amazing and I love every one of them. Thank you so much! But now, on to a more selfish subject. As much as I love the reviews I'm getting, I know there are lots more people reading than are reviewing. As a reader, I only review if I really love a story, so I can't blame those of you not reviewing, but we're at chapter 11, guys. If you like it enough to read to chapter 11, that must mean you like it. So, with that in mind, please, if you're not reviewing yet, at least consider it :) Thanks all! You're awesome!

Chapter 11

Arthur arrived the next morning long before his appointment with Mal, and he and Cobb immediately set to work. It had been nearly a week since they'd last practiced together, though Arthur had been vigilant about running through his exercises daily. Having Cobb there, though, was a great improvement. They spent nearly three hours just practicing blocks, attacks, stretches, and everything in-between. The silence that had settled awkwardly between them since Mal had taken over training was lifted almost automatically, and Cobb even managed to tease Arthur a little about how quickly his reflexes had already begun to slow.

"So how is training with Mal?" Cobb asked as they stretched out after a practice fight.

Arthur grimaced at the question and Cobb allowed himself a small chuckle. "She really knows what she's doing," Arthur said finally. "The only problem is I don't. She's a lot like you that way. She keeps things to herself."

"I told you what you needed to know." His tone wasn't exactly defensive, but Cobb did sound somewhat surprised by Arthur's comparison.

"And nothing else," Arthur pointed out. "If I didn't _need_ to know it, you didn't tell me. That's alright I suppose; it just left me in the dark a lot."

"Huh," Cobb grunted, straightening.

"Thus far, all Mal's taught me is how to dress and how to stand," the Point-Man-in-training said as he stood as well.

This time Cobb actually let himself laugh. "It's interesting she picked that first," he commented, reaching for a water bottle. He took a drink and then offered it to his pupil. Arthur accepted it, but didn't drink right away.

"I don't get it," he admitted. "It seems sort of pointless."

"Trust me, it has a point."

Arthur took a drink.

"But, comparatively, isn't it rather unimportant?" he asked, handing the water bottle back.

"It could be," Cobb agreed half-heartedly. "But it is important, in the long run. Mal has her reasons, I'm sure. Just because you or I wouldn't have taught it that way doesn't mean she isn't doing it right."

Arthur nodded, but said nothing. They returned silently to stretching.

It was nearing one o'clock when they finally stopped. They'd been practicing outside, so Cobb lead Arthur into his study for the next part of that day's training. The silver briefcase sat waiting on the coffee table. Arthur settled into the couch without waiting to be told, unconsciously flipping his arm over to expose his wrist, ready for the IV.

"Another maze run?" he asked as he watched Cobb prepare the PASIV.

"It's been a while," was the older man's only response.

It was true. The last time was a few weeks ago, and Arthur couldn't help but feel almost eager to be running the maze again.

Cobb put the finishing touches on the device and extended a catheter to Arthur, then took one himself, sitting in his desk chair. The familiar pinch of a needle, the rush in his veins, the drowsiness in his eyes…Arthur welcomed it all. He was ready to be dream sharing again.

XXX

He opened his eyes and looked around. The place was unfamiliar, unlike every other maze he'd ever run. It was raining heavily, pelting his exposed arms, face, and neck with large, chilling drops. No sounds other than the rain and distant thunder could be heard. For a long moment he stood frozen, listening. In the distance, he could just barely make out the sound of cars driving on a soaked freeway. The street he was standing in was empty, silent, and foreboding.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose and he could feel his skin stretching against the cold, forming goosebumps. He needed to get out of the street to somewhere that he wasn't so exposed to both the elements and whoever it was he was supposed to be fighting.

There was one other key difference between this maze run and the others. A gun was tucked into the back of his paints, cool and hard against his skin. This was the first time he'd ever been given a weapon upon entering the maze. Every other time, he'd had to find one himself. Instead of comforting him, he felt even more on edge. Immediately he removed the gun, holding it firmly with both hands.

He tried the door of the closest building. Locked. So was the next house, and the next. The neighborhood was abandoned and completely locked down. With nowhere else to go, he pushed himself up against a door, using the frame as a very pitiful defense against whoever was out there.

And he waited.

It was a long moment before he saw any movement in the street. His eyes scanned up and down every house, but there was nothing out there for what seemed far too long to be natural. Suddenly, he jerked nervously at the sound of a door opening and closing. He followed the sound, locating its source a block or two down the road. A little girl, too small to be out on her own, was headed in his direction. She was dressed in a little white raincoat with red polka-dots and blue rain boots. In her hands a yellow and pink striped umbrella bobbed back in forth, half of the time exposing her head to the rain. She was humming to herself—a show tune, it sounded like—but as she approached he could tell she was making up the words.

"_I yike it in da rain._ _It's nice in da rain…_"

She was so small, her voice thin and her words slurred in a way that could only mean speech was still unfamiliar to her. His heart sank when he realized who it was.

Forgetting his cover, Arthur rushed out into the street, scooping Phillipa up into his arms, pulling her quickly behind a bush and out of sight. She let out a little scream which he quickly muffled with one hand. Her body was so little, but she struggled forcefully for one her size.

"Shhh," he hissed, putting a finger to his lips. "You have to be quiet."

He couldn't make out the words she mumbled against his hands, but he was sure it wasn't coherent. It took a lot of will power for him to bite back a curse. Whatever Cobb was thinking, this wasn't fair. Having to drag around a little kid through the maze was the last thing he needed. Though it very likely could have been that the whole point of this test was to see if Arthur would save Phillipa or let her continue on her own. Part of him was fully aware that she wasn't real, that if she got hurt, it was just a dream and when he woke she'd be off getting ready for her nap as though nothing had happened. Because, of course, nothing would have happened. He tried to convince himself to leave her and navigate the maze on his own, but he couldn't bring himself to do it

Phillipa removed his hand from her mouth and took a huge breath.

"Das not nice!" she said angrily, hitting him with a little fist. "Das not nice!"

"Shhh!" he commanded. He grabbed her fist with his free hand and she struggled to pull away.

She started mumbling something that he could hardly make out. The only words that were distinct enough to recognize where "home" and "mama." He let out a sigh, realizing what he had to do. Standing, he picked Phillipa up against her will and headed cautiously down the street, holding the girl with one hand so he could keep his gun at the ready.

Almost as soon as he stood, he heard a door slam open and he dropped quickly to the ground, rolling to avoid hitting Phillipa, as a gunshot cracked through the silence. She screamed, and he held her close to his chest, propping himself up enough to shoot back. He hit the man on his second try.

"Mommy!" Phillpa shrieked. "Mama!"

He tried to calm her, rising shakily to his feet and quickly ducking behind a fence as the sound of breaking glass alerted him to a new attacker. His knees sunk into mud and wet grass. Two gunshots, from a second story window, three houses down. There wasn't time to aim, so he prayed that he'd gauged the distance right. Spinning on his knees, he brought his gun up sharply and let off three shots in quick succession. There was a grunt of pain and the sound of more shattering glass, then the thud of a body hitting the ground.

Phillipa was screaming full force now. She didn't even seem to draw breath. Not that everyone in the place wasn't alerted to their presence already, but he couldn't help his irritation.

"Phillipa," he snapped, forcing her to look at him. Her cries faltered for a moment, shocked silent by his sudden anger. "You _have_ to be quiet," he commanded, trying to keep his voice as kind as possible, though he knew he was failing miserably. "Do you understand?"

Two big, wet tears slid down her round, red cheeks. He felt like an ass, but there wasn't time to worry about that now.

Cautiously, he raised himself up off his knees and into a crouch. Then slowly he began to walk along the fence, still cradling Phillipa against his chest. She buried her face in his shirt, whimpering.

They made it all the way to the street without being noticed, but there the fence ended and they would have to stand again. Arthur quickly scanned the street. Though the neighborhood seemed completely unfamiliar, he knew the Cobbs' house the second his eyes fell upon it. There were two long blocks in between where they were and where they needed to be. Gauging the distance and trying to estimate how long it would take him to get there, Arthur made up his mind. Without so much as a backwards glance, he stood and sprinted in the right direction.

Gunshots echoed in the quiet of the street. Several were too close for comfort, but miraculously, he could see the Cobbs' house only meters away. He stumbled on the stairs, ducking into the doorway just in time to see a bullet whiz past him and into the spot that he'd been standing a fraction of a second before. For a long moment, he fumbled with the door handle, finally getting a firm grip on it and thrusting the door inward.

"Mama!" Phillipa shouted, pushing against Arthur's chest, struggling to free herself.

"Ma…Mal," he panted. He was sure she couldn't have heard him.

Footsteps on the stairs. "Phillipa?" Mal's voice was tight with worry.

Arthur let the little girl slide from his arms to the floor. She rushed to the stairs, meeting her mother at the foot. Mal swept Phillipa into her embrace so quickly the movement seemed almost inhuman. She clutched her daughter to her chest, spinning on her heel and shooting Arthur a venomous glare.

He was taken aback by her response. He'd just _saved_ her daughter and yet, from the expression on her face, it would seem that she blamed _him_ for what had happened. At a loss for words, he stared at her, still panting for breath, and feeling thoroughly confused.

"Close your eyes, Phillipa," Mal whispered into her daughter's ear. Arthur could barely make out the words.

It didn't occur to him that this wasn't reality, that the gun now leveled at his chest wasn't going to kill him for real. He couldn't seem to remember that she was just a projection. This was a maze. His goal was to stay alive, to navigate it successfully. All he could comprehend was that Mal was about to shoot him. He had time to reach for his own gun—he could have shot her first. But the bullet struck him in the chest, then the stomach, before the thought even came to him.

XXX

He sat bolt upright, once again in Cobb's study. Trying to calm himself, he removed the catheter, taking deep, steadying breaths. His eyes flickered over to where Cobb sat, looking completely composed, and then quickly back to his own wrist before the urge to punch his mentor in the face became too overwhelming.

"Let me explain," Cobb began.

"That wasn't fair." Arthur's voice was low and—he was ashamed to realize—trembling. "How was I supposed to know?"

"Listen to me, Arthur," the Extractor said slowly. "You weren't supposed to know. That was the whole point."

The Point Man stood, turning his back away from Cobb so he couldn't see just how shaken Arthur really was. His heart was still pounding; a dull ache stretched across his chest and stomach. It was all in his mind, he knew it. But it felt real. In his head it was real. He fumbled in his pocket for his totem, feeling relief spread through him at its familiar weight.

"This was an important lesson. You needed to learn that you can't always trust what's in your head, especially when it's tied to something you trust in the real world." Cobb sounded very firm about this, but there was almost an apology in his tone. Arthur was grateful for it, but he could tell it would take a while before his anger would completely subside. His hands were still trembling. "When you're on a job, your projections can play tricks on you. You never know if someone else in the dream is aware of what's important to you and can use it as a weapon. Never—_never_—allow yourself to believe someone isn't a projection unless you're sure they entered the dream with you."

Arthur nodded, hoping to seem like he was learning from this, like he wasn't completely shaken.

"It's gonna take a while to get that lesson," the trainer said almost gently. "I'm still working on it. Even the most skilled extractor can be tricked sometimes by his own projections. You have to be careful who you bring into your dreams."

"I thought you can't control your subconscious," Arthur demanded, looking back over his shoulder at Cobb.

"You can't. But you can avoid suppressing things into your subconscious. Dreams, it's often said, represent what we mot want to keep hidden. Our desires, our fears. If you can be open with yourself, you'll be more likely not to find something you don't want to see in a shared dream."

Again, Arthur nodded. He turned to face Cobb again, his shaking under control now and his anger replaced with resign. Whatever had just happened, he wasn't going to let it happen again.

The door opened, startling both Cobb and Arthur.

"My turn," Mal said brightly, leaning through the doorway just enough to smile at the two men. "It's two o'clock."

XXX

Arthur was painfully aware of his sweaty work-out clothes and the fact that his hair stood on end as he and Mal were left alone in the living room. She tossed him a towel, which he caught with ease, but otherwise took no notice of his appearance. Settling into the couch, she turned to face him with an expectant expression on her face.

"Alright. This is your time. What do you want to ask me about the job?"

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Mal cocked her head to one side, raising her eyebrows and looking thoroughly impatient.

"Okay," he finally managed. "Charles Hayworth. He isn't real."

"No, he's not," she agreed easily, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. It all seemed so natural.

"So you made him up? Everything about him?" His voice sounded short-tempered, which he quickly reigned in, reminding himself that she wasn't aware of what he'd just been through.

"Well, I based him off of real people." She ran her hand over her skirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. "But yes, I made him up. I had months to prepare, remember?" She lifted her big, blue eyes to gaze at him levelly. "What else?"

"So there's not going to be any dreaming involved in this job? I mean, we're not actually performing it?"

"Not this first one, no."

"Why not?" he asked with only the slightest hint of confusion and irritation in his tone.

"You're not ready," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I cannot send you into a man's brain as unprepared as you are. This is just the first step. I'm not about to let you perform an actual extraction."

He didn't know whether to be upset or relieved. "So what happens after all this?"

"You start again, this time with a real job. A small one." Her eyes lit up as she spoke.

"But why will I be ready then?" He spread the towel on the couch and then sat down on the edge, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees.

"That time I will go with you," she said matter-of-factly. "You'll do the research, the work before hand. But I'll be Point on the job. You'll follow me, watch how I do it. Then the next time you will be on your own."

A thrill of excitement ran down his spin at that thought. It was probably months away, but he could wait. He'd waited six months just to get here.

"Now," she said, standing, "if that's all, then I get to take over. Today we test your memory."

"My memory?" he asked cautiously.

Mal made her way over to a cabinet and reached inside to remove a blue cardboard box. She turned back to face him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Have you ever played this game before?" she asked.

Arthur's heart sank. "Memory?" he said incredulously.

"Not the kind you played as a child, but yes, very similar." She set the box on the coffee table and sat opposite him, indicating with a wave of her hand that he should start.

With a heavy sigh, he opened the lid and began to set up.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: First of all, I want you to know that I have _not _been ignoring this story. It's just that I'm a college student with homework and a social life and on top of that my computer decided to break down _again_ so I've been dealing with a lot of opposition in trying to write this chapter. I'll try to get them up faster in the future, I promise! Thank you for your patience!

Chapter 12

Arthur had never been so confused in his life. He'd always been a quick student; he was smart, attentive, analytical, individual, and just naturally brainy. There had never been a subject that hadn't come naturally. That is, not until he started dream training. With Cobb it had been one thing—he could throw himself against the brick wall that was his trainer with so much force that eventually he would break through his confusion and understand what was going on, despite his teacher's less than open attitude. But with Mal—with Mal it was something else entirely. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met. She was a mix of Cobb's stubbornness and evasive manner, while simultaneously being lively and focused and in her own world. He'd never met a cleverer woman in his life, nor had he met one that made so little sense. The Mona Lisa had always bothered Arthur; he had never met a woman personally that had such a smile. Now Arthur was convinced that Da Vinci must have painted the woman Mal had been reincarnated as. She had the exact same smile: subtly reminding you that she knew something you didn't, that the world was clear to her but not to you. It was the most frustrating feeling he'd ever experienced.

The memory game was just one of many instances leaving Arthur feeling this way. He had to admit to being slightly embarrassed that he was being retaught how to play the memory game he'd learned as a child. Of course, it was much more complicated than the versions he'd played when he was younger, but that didn't make him feel much better. Mal spread the cards out on the coffee table in neat rows, then he began to turn two over at a time, trying to find matching pairs. What he hadn't been expecting was that the pictures would be of the exact same thing with only slight variations. He flipped over the first two cards and was certain they matched. But Mal shook her head and pointed out two tiny differences, insisting they were not the same picture. Frustrated, Arthur continued only to find that all the cards were that way. It took nearly an hour for him to pick up on the minute discrepancies and finally match all of the cards. When he was done, the cards were dealt again. This time he was much faster but it was still difficult. After he finished the second time he was dismissed and he left feeling flustered.

That was just one of many instances. Shopping for clothes, learning posture, playing memory, or really just learning from Mal at all. Every single lesson reminded him of how inept he was at being a Point Man compared to Mal. Yes, she had years more experience, but somehow he couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he wasn't picking up on things like he wanted to. Despite her constant corrections, Mal insisted he was doing well, but "well" wasn't enough for Arthur. It never had been. He wanted to be the best, because that was what he always was. But for the first time in his life, he was the only student, and therefore the only one to find fault in. The constant nagging, correcting, and reminding was unlike anything he could remember. It seemed impossible that it had only been three weeks—three weeks!—since it had started.

XXX

The PASIV sat on the desk.

Arthur froze in the doorway, staring at the silver briefcase, his eyes narrowing with confusion. He looked up at Mal as she flipped open the case, prepping for a dream-share. Cobb sat in a chair next to her, watching Arthur with careful eyes.

"Have a seat, Arthur," Mal said softly. She didn't look at him.

"I thought I was presenting today." It wasn't a question.

Mal straightened, finally turning toward him. "You are. Have a seat."

He didn't move. "Then why the PASIV?" This time it was a demand.

"Well, how else do you expect to show me your work?" She had one eyebrow raised in that I-knew-the-answer-before-I-asked-the-question expression. "I want you to show me for real."

"You said we wouldn't do this job for real, Mal," he reminded her in a low voice.

"Take a deep breath," she said with a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "I never go back on my word."

"Have a seat, Arthur," Cobb said, speaking for the first time.

Reluctantly, Arthur obeyed. With small, tight movements he rolled up his sleeve, exposing his wrist. A catheter was passed to him which he unflinchingly inserted into his vein. He had just enough time to watch as Mal and Cobb did the same before the world dissolved into total darkness and he was asleep.

XXX

He knew the place immediately. He and Cobb had spent several hours here over the past three weeks. It must have been Cobb's dream; he could tell almost instantly by the subtle differences in the décor from the last time he'd been here, when it was his dream. The basics of the room were, of course, the same, but things shifted slightly or color was brighter or more subdued, all small alterations that occurred based on who was actually dreaming and who was intruding. Cobb stood behind him, Mal beside her husband.

She didn't say anything at first. For a very long moment, she just walked around the room, examining every detail. They were in a hotel room, richly furnished and obviously expensive. Mal ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the polished wood.

"Where are we?"

"The hotel room where Hayworth meets his mistress every Wednesday night," Arthur supplied as he watched Mal scrutinize the carpet.

"That's a risky choice," she said, turning to face him with a frown on her face. "One wrong detail and your Mark will know that he's in a dream."

"I've done my research," he retorted a little defensively. "The details are perfect."

"Hmm." She turned to the closet, which she opened, peered into, and then closed again. "Why did you pick this place?"

"His mistress was, so far as I could tell, a far greater source of strong emotions than was his wife. She served my purposes better."

"In what way?" She walked over to the desk and leaned back against it, folding her arms and watching Arthur carefully.

"Our Point Man dreams big," Cobb answered for him. "He'd need a forger for this dream."

"A Forger?" she asked incredulously. She gave Cobb a suspicious look. "And that was his idea?"

"Yes," her husband said without the slightest shift in his countenance.

That wasn't entirely true. During one of their training sessions, Arthur had asked about how he could have the mistress appear in the dream without actually brining her into the dream-share. Cobb spouted off just about every detail about Forgers that he knew, insisting that Arthur should include one in his dream. Since it had fit his plan fairly well, Arthur had agreed without much hesitation. But he couldn't own up to the idea of having wanted a Forger; Cobb had been the real creator of that concept.

"Mmm," Mal said between tight lips. "What would you need a Forger for, Arthur?" She had turned to look at him again.

"I want him to perform as Hayworth's mistress. I'd her as incentive for him to tell me what I want to know."

"Which you would do how?"

"I'd threaten her," he said as if it were obvious. "When Hayworth entered, I'd have a gun to her head and demand to know what his plans for his drugs were."

"I see." She didn't sound impressed. Suddenly, she glanced down at her watch and with a sigh stood, arms still folded and frown still in place. It took a long moment for the future Point Man to realize what was going on.

Arthur sat up, shaking his head to clear his thoughts as he found himself once again sitting on the Cobb's couch. He glanced at the PASIV to see that there was no more time on the clock. The sudden jerk back to reality was a painful one—it had taken him a long time to get used to the many different ways he could be woken up, but strangely running out of time on the PASIV was the hardest. It meant no warning, no indication that he was about to find himself back where he'd fallen asleep. Even being shot was at least predictable.

"Well," Mal said, settling back into her chair.

"Well?" Arthur repeated, a little confused.

"It wasn't bad for a first try," she said evasively. "May I see the research?"

Arthur handed over a folder filled with his work. Inside was all the information Mal had given him at the beginning, his notes on the material, his plans for the dream, his sketches and pictures of and notes on the hotel room which he had gone and visited, and his blow-by-blow expectations for what would happen once inside the dream. Mal skimmed through everything, not once looking up at Arthur. Cobb caught the younger man's eye and gave him an encouraging half smile.

"You were very thorough," she said finally. She placed the folder on the coffee table.

"But?" He knew it was coming.

"But," she continued, "you picked a very risky start. First of all, your plan of using a familiar place…that's not usually a good idea. The Mark can find fault in what you've created and realize it's a dream—"

"But if it's done right, then they're less likely to realize it's a dream," Arthur argued.

"True," she agreed hesitantly. "Second, the idea of threatening someone to make the Mark speak…it's very basic. I was hoping for something a little more creative."

Arthur could feel his face flush with irritation. "Dom's done it before."

"As have I." She waved aside his comment. "That doesn't matter. My point is that you could have come up with something more original, less rudimentary."

The young Point Man leaned back in his chair, keeping his mouth clamped shut.

"As I said, it's a good start. I mean, this is only your first try, but I do expect more next time."

"It's not the Point Man's job to plan the dream," he reminded her. "I just research."

She gave him a very amused smile. "Arthur, let's remember who's the teacher and who's the student. I will tell you what a Point Man's job is."

XXX

"That's enough boys," Mal said, poking her head outside and calling out to her husband and student. "Come inside and eat."

Arthur lifted his knee from off of Cobb's chest and helped the Extractor to his feet. After Mal had dismissed Arthur so that she could examine his work a little more closely, Cobb had taken Arthur outside to train. He was grateful for the distraction of physical exercise. Mal's response to his work had not been so encouraging and he needed to get his mind off of his disappointment. He wasn't sure how long they'd been training, but it had to have been for several hours. They'd run through all of the stretches and warm-ups, then drilled and sparred for quite some time. The interruption caught both men completely by surprise—they were in the middle of a very intense practice fight. Arthur had finally managed to throw off the older man just before Mal had ordered them to stop.

Cobb clapped Arthur heartily on the shoulder once he was on his feet again. "You've gotten a lot better," he said, panting slightly from the exertion. "You caught me completely off guard there at the end."

The compliment seemed out of place coming from Cobb, who hardly ever said anything that wasn't a correction. Arthur's mouth twitched upward on one side. "Thanks."

They walked the remainder of the way to the house in silence, both still trying to catch their breath. Arthur hadn't realized how hungry he was until he stepped inside and smelled the heavenly aroma wafting from the kitchen. His stomach growled.

"I hope you're staying, Arthur," Mal said without looking up at him when he passed. "There's too much food here for the three of us." Phillipa was watching Arthur with suspicious eyes.

"I don't want to inconvenience you," he said politely.

"Pfsh!" She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't be silly."

"Have a seat," Cobb commanded, sitting at the head of the table.

Arthur followed suit and sat across from him. The table was set and loaded with a very delicious-looking meal. Mal sat down next to her husband who immediately reached out to take hold of her hand under the table.

"Dish up." She indicated the plates of food in front of him with a sharp nod of her head.

He obeyed, feeling slightly awkward about being their dinner guest. First of all, he'd only ever had a student-mentor relationship with Mal and Cobb, but more importantly he'd just a few hours ago been fuming over Mal's critique of his work. She had an unbelievable talent for moving on from something extremely fast. Why was that so hard for him?

"Um…thank you for having me," he said finally, staring pointedly at his food.

"Don't mention it." It was an order. "You shouldn't feel unwelcome here, Arthur."

He continued to watch his plate with great interest. Wasn't he a stranger? Cobb knew him better than Mal, certainly, but they'd never been friends. There was always an element of professionalism between the two of them that wouldn't allow it. Arthur was fond of Cobb in a way; he respected the Extractor a great deal, looked up to him and craved his praise and approval, which stemmed from the fact that Cobb gave it so rarely. As for Mal…he didn't even know her really. He would have liked to understand her better, but that didn't necessarily mean friendship. Suddenly he wasn't sure why he was so determined not become attached to the Cobb's. Or maybe he wasn't determined, just unsure.

"Besides," Mal said, cutting into his thoughts, "we need to get used to another mouth to feed."

This time he looked up, confused. Cobb was giving Mal a look that mirrored Arthur's feelings perfectly; obviously he didn't know what was going on any more than the Point Man did. Mal was smiling that infuriating smile at her husband, the one that said she knew something no one else did. She squeezed his hand and placed her free hand on her stomach. Cobb's eyes darted from her face down to her hand then back up again.

"Mal!" he said quietly.

She laughed softly. "This time it's going to be a boy, I'm sure of it."

Cobb's expression was somewhere between shock and delight. Arthur laughed awkwardly, once again feeling like an intruder on a very personal moment. "Congratulations," he said, unsure what else to do.

"Thank you, Arthur," Mal said sweetly. Then, as if noticing for the first time that both men were extremely uncomfortable, she commanded, "Eat!"

XXX

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews guys! We're starting a whole new portion of the story and I'm really excited to hear what you think of it. So please keep up those reviews! This chapter has had a couple of drafts and I'm still not sure if it came out right. Let me know what you thought!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: 80 reviews? *Dies* I have never had so many! Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this story, who's reviewed every chapter avidly, who's just barely started reviewing, and who's given me the best feedback that I've ever gotten for a story. You guys are awesome! This story is only possible because of you guys. Please keep up the reviews! I love them all and read them carefully. I take to heart everything you say and I really do need these reviews to keep me motivated. Can we break 100? That would be amazing! I honestly have never gotten such a great response to a story before, so thanks to everyone for giving me that. And thank you to everyone who's been advertising this story. I seriously think a lot of this story's success is due to you.

I do have a request to make. Does anyone that's reading this like to make a promotional vid for this fic? That would be awesome! If you're interested tell me in a review or send me a PM. Thanks again everyone!

Chapter 13

It seemed a little strange to see a pregnant woman screwing a silencer onto the end of a gun. Mal wasn't the type to let a little thing like being eight months into a pregnancy get in the way of work, but Arthur couldn't help but feel the slightest hint of uneasiness at seeing her here. Of course, it didn't help that she looked so out of place in her fancy gown, what with the tell-tale bump that had her walking and reacting slower than was safe for this situation. She didn't look at Arthur as she worked, her fingers still nimble and quick despite everything. When she finished she glanced around, then stowed the gun in her purse—he was amazed that it fit—before she finally met her protégé's gaze.

"Let's get out of here, quick," she said in a low voice, her eyes scanning the hall behind him to make sure no one was coming.

"How are you doing?" he asked as they walked. He followed close enough behind her that when she turned to glare at him for his impertinent question, her elbow struck him in the midriff.

"I'm fine," she said coolly. "We talked about this already, Arthur."

"Forgive me for being worried about the baby." His voice was full of sarcasm rather than apology. "I just don't think it's a good idea to be dream-sharing when you're pregnant."

"I've done it before," she reminded him, walking again, this time at a brisk pace that made Arthur have to lengthen his stride to keep up.

"That doesn't make it a good idea. I thought that's why you had to quit being Point—"

"Well, until you're ready to do it on your own," she said with an undertone of irritation, though her voice remained as lovely as ever, "I can't exactly quit, can I?"

"Touché." A smile touched his lips briefly. "But who says I'm not ready? I could have done this myself."

She laughed, lacing her arm through his as they emerged from the hall into the ballroom. "Don't be so sure of yourself," she murmured into his ear. "You've never completed a job on your own yet."

"You won't let me," he pointed out.

"Soon." She flashed her stunning smile across the room at their host. "In a month I'll be on maternity leave, and you'll have Point Man all to yourself."

Arthur couldn't decide if he was eager for that moment, or if he was dreading it.

"Smile," Mal commanded as their host approached them, emerging from a group of fawning women.

He was sure his smile seemed forced. Luckily, their host was far more concerned with Mal than with Arthur, and she was obviously the better actor. Her smile was genuine, it seemed, and when the gentleman raised her hand to his lips, her distaste for him didn't show through at all.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Madam," he said in a very sophisticated English accent.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Forester." Her voice was like honey.

"I'm afraid your name escapes me," Forester said, looking slightly embarrassed but in a way that seemed played up for effect. At least, to Arthur it seemed that way. "I'm terrible with names, drives my wife out of her mind."

"Marion Cotillard." The false name slipped off her tongue without the slightest hesitation, as though it really were her name. It sounded strange in Arthur's ears, but at the same time he could easily have believed the false identity if he didn't know better. "This is a dear friend of the family, Joseph Levitt. I hope you don't mind my bringing him here."

"Not at all," Forester said with a forced smile in Arthur's direction. "Where's your husband tonight, Mrs. Cotillard?"

"I'm afraid he is unwell this evening. Joseph was kind enough to escort me in his place."

"You're very fortunate." Forester was almost as smooth a liar as Mal.

Arthur wondered at his mentor's ability to keep up a seemingly endless stream of small talk. Forester was completely enthralled, leaving the Point Man free to scan the room for Cobb's familiar face. He found the Extractor in the corner, a glass of Champaign in one hand, the other hidden in his pocket. The two men made eye contact for the briefest moment, long enough for Arthur to give Cobb a subtle nod.

"Your party is quite exquisite," Mal was saying. She'd brought Arthur back to reality with a small but painful pinch to his inner arm. "I would never be brave enough to host one of this size myself. Too many people that you can't keep an eye on."

"You're paranoid that someone might steal from you?" Forester asked with an incredulous laugh.

"Not paranoid," she corrected serenely. "Just wary. It's been known to happen."

"There's nothing to worry about in that regard, Mrs. Cotillard," Forester assured her. "I have the finest security system in the world. Everything of true value here is completely safe."

"Is it?" she asked, her eyes wide with acted disbelief. "Even the things on display?"

A sly smile appeared on Forester's face. "Can you keep a secret, Mrs. Cotillard?"

She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I adore a good secret."

Forester shot Arthur a disapproving glance, but the Point Man was busy pretending to be bored so as to appear unaware of the conversation. Though he seemed slightly hesitant, the host turned back to Mal and said, "Everything on display is either protected by the most accurate motion sensors in the world, or it is merely a copy of the actual item which I keep locked in a safe, in my study, to which room only I have admittance."

It took all of Arthur's willpower not to stiffen, though automatically, his eyes flicked back to where Cobb sat.

"Oh," Mal breathed in awe. "You must have quite a fortune, Mr. Forester, to afford such precautions."

"_Quite_ a fortune, Mrs. Cotillard," Forester said with a smug smile.

Cobb finally met Arthur's gaze. Immediately, he knew what the Point Man knew…that the location of the information had been discovered. Subtlety, Cobb peeled himself away from the wall and headed in Arthur's direction, taking the most circuitous route he could. In the back of his mind, Arthur was aware that Mal was wrapping up the conversation. He was amazed by her ability to command a conversation without anyone noticing. Clearly, though he was ready in every other way to take on the role of Point Man, Arthur did not have the gift that Mal did. He couldn't do what she had just done with Forester. Certainly not yet, at least.

He became aware of Forester's eyes on his face just barely fast enough to respond to his host's brief good-bye. Once again, Forester brought Mal's hand to his lips. Arthur bristled at the action, but Mal was all smiles.

"I hope to meet you again, Mr. Forester," she lied smoothly.

As soon as Forester was out of sight, Arthur could feel the pressure of Mal's hand on his arm tighten. He looked down at her and her expression was one of pure excitement. "That was too easy," she said, though the word "too" seemed to make her happy rather than nervous. They exited the room swiftly, Cobb following behind at a distance.

It wasn't hard to find the study. Deftly, Mal removed her gun from her purse while Arthur took out his own gun from its position, tucked into the back of his pants. He could hear Cobb approaching from behind him. The three of them took a moment to finish arming themselves, then advanced at once. Cobb stepped in front of his wife automatically and she allowed him to, though Arthur could see the faint smile that touched her eyes.

"He said only he had admittance to the study," Mal cautioned as the two men approached the door. "What does that mean?"

"It means that you can only get in here with his finger print," Cobb answered, locating the scanner he was talking about. "But I designed the place. He thinks it's armed like his home, but it's programmed to let me in as well as him."

"That's clever, Sweetheart," Mal said, kissing her husband's shoulder lightly as he leaned over to press his thumb pad to the scanner.

_"Welcome, Dom Cobb,"_ said a woman's voice as the door swung open.

They entered slowly, both Arthur and Mal scanning the room as Cobb headed straight for the painting on the back wall. It looked exactly like Cobb had promised it would. The whole place was dark and rich, screaming of a very chic and modern designer's dream. Shinning grey stone lined the walls, lending a chilly effect to the place. The color scheme was strictly black, white and every shade in between. Red from the painting seemed to pop unexpectedly out at you, drawing your eyes immediately to the abstract art. It was the only real color in the room.

"Where's the safe?" Arthur demanded.

"Right here," Cobb replied softly, placing his gun on the desk and reaching up to lift the painting from its place on the wall. Sure enough, there was a silver safe complete with finger scanner imbedded in the stone."

"Please tell me you programmed this one to respond to your print, too," the Point Man said, watching as the Extractor frowned. There was a long silence while the older man stared at the safe, until finally Arthur spoke again. "Cobb?"

"I was expecting a regular lock…" he mused, his brow knitted in concentration as he examined the scanner.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur demanded at the same time that Mal said, "Dom, you don't have time to debate this."

As though all he'd heard was his wife, Cobb reached forward and pressed his thumb against the scanner. It whirred softly for a moment, then turned from blue to a glaring red.

_"Access denied,"_ said the same serene female voice.

"Dammit!" Cobb snapped under his breath, jumping when the alarm went off.

"Quickly Dom!" Mal screamed.

Footsteps in the hall told them that security was already on the way. Cobb didn't waste time, snatching up his gun and shooting at the lock. The bullets had no effect on the metal other than to leave a white skid mark on the otherwise perfect silver surface.

Without pausing, without thinking, Cobb spun around and put a bullet through Mal's forehead. She didn't even have time to scream.

"What the hell was that?" Arthur yelled, feeling his skin crawl with horror as he watched Mal crumple to the ground.

Cobb didn't answer. He shot another bullet at the window, shattering the glass. He hefted Mal up into his arms, then, without ceremony, let her limp form tumble to the ground several floors below. Next, he reached into his pocket, drawing out two ski masks. He tossed one to Arthur which he caught without having to think.

"Put that on," the Extractor snapped, pulling the other mask over his face.

Arthur obeyed, completely unsure of what else he _could_ do. The click of a mag being ejected from a gun, then of a second one being replaced told him that Cobb had just reloaded his gun. He brought his own up and pointed it at the doorway just in time to shoot the first man that entered the room. The shot hit the security guard square in the chest, knocking him back so that he landed with his limbs splayed awkwardly, red blood decorating the otherwise grey floor. Several more followed which Cobb and Arthur brought down quickly.

Pain exploded in Arthur's right shoulder, knocking him backwards into the desk. He looked up in time to watch Cobb shoot Forester in the throat. The host swayed for a moment, a look of mixed shock and confusion on his face, then toppled forward, his head bouncing off a chair as he fell.

Arthur cursed with what little breath he could muster. "What were you thinking? He's going to wake up—"

"Mal will keep him under long enough for us to get the information," Cobb said sharply, striding over to Forester's motionless body. He drug the corpse over to the safe and pressed his thumb pad to the scanner.

"_Approved. Kyle Forester."_

He let the body drop on the floor, snatching the files out from the safe and then snapping it shut. Arthur watched, clamping his uninjured hand over the wound in his right arm. Blood made his hands slick, and it took all his control to keep it from trembling so violently he couldn't hold on.

Cobb scanned the files as quickly as he could. His eyes darted across the paper until he'd read everything he needed. Then he let them drop as he lifted his gun, leveling it at Arthur's forehead.

Suddenly, he was sitting bolt upright in the first class lounge at the LAX airport. Cobb was waking beside him, and Mal was stationed at the PASIV, forcing a sedative into Forester's IV.

"Did you get it?" she asked briskly.

"Just barely," Cobb responded, removing his needle. "Let's get out of here. I give him about thirty seconds before he wakes up."

Mal stood obediently and Arthur followed. The silver briefcase was hastily packed and snapped shut. Then the three of them spun—almost in unison—and headed out of the lounge just as Forester began to stir.

XXX

A/N: Okay, so I wasn't planning on finishing this so fast, but hopefully you'll like the action even though this chapter is a tad bit shorter. Please let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: I am so sorry for the long gap! School has gotten the better of me and I have been swamped with homework and just life. Hopefully I'll be able to get some writing done now that I'm on Winter Break. Thanks to everyone who has been so patient.

I do have a request to make. Does anyone that's reading this like to make a promotional vid for this fic? That would be awesome! If you're interested tell me in a review or send me a PM. Thanks again everyone!

Chapter 14

"What are we doing here?" Arthur demanded in a harsh whisper as he and Cobb walked through the obscenely large and silent lobby of the Intercontinental Hotel. Their footsteps sounded twice as loud against the marble floor due to the echo of the almost empty room. Soft jazz music poured out of invisible speakers so subtly that Arthur almost doubted he could hear it at all.

"Meeting our new employer," Cobb answered stiffly. "I'm not exactly sure what to expect from this one, so I want you to stay extra alert, alright?"

Arthur was taken aback by the order, but he nodded his obedience. They walked in silence until they reached a restaurant that was down a hallway from the lobby and overlooked, through its one wall entirely made up of windows, the pool and beach area. It seemed like a very ritzy bar/lounge sort of place more than a restaurant, Arthur noted upon closer inspection. He scanned the room, looking for someone who might look like a potential employer of anti-extractors, but no one jumped out at him. Cobb strode over to the seating hostess, a pretty girl that couldn't have been older than nineteen, and smiled at her.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for someone."

"Name please?" she asked, flipping open a black folder.

"Eames," Cobb responded in a low tone.

"Hmmm." The girl scanned the list before looking up. "Sorry, no one here by that name."

Arthur could see Cobb stiffen ever so slightly.

"Could I get you a table though, sir?"

"No, thank you," Cobb responded smoothly.

"Excuse me, miss, but these gentlemen are here for me," said a voice from behind Arthur. It was unfamiliar and clearly British and Arthur exchanged looks briefly with Cobb before they both turned in unison.

Standing behind them was a man in an odd assortment of casual and dress clothes wearing a cocky grin. He strode past Arthur and Cobb and gave the seating hostess a wink as he leaned towards her.

"I'm Mr. Thomas," he said. "I have a reservation."

She returned to her folder for a brief moment before looking up with a smile and saying, "Right this way, Mr. Thomas."

The stranger turned to the Point Man and Extractor. "I apologize for not being on time, but I always believe in being fashionably late."

He motioned for Arthur and Cobb to follow as he headed after the hostess and, reluctantly, they did.

"Who the hell is Mr. Thomas?" Arthur hissed at Cobb as they walked but his mentor quickly cut him off.

"Shh!" he snapped. "I have it under control."

Though Cobb spoke with confidence, Arthur could see the Extractor reaching into his pocket to handle this totem. Unconsciously, Arthur had done the same and the cool plastic in his hand was comforting as his fingers closed around the die. Its weight was familiar and he knew this wasn't a dream.

They reached a small table in a deserted corner of the room up against the windows. Thomas sat and waved his hand across the table to indicate that Arthur and Cobb should do the same. Both men sat, never taking their eyes off of the stranger.

"Allow me to buy you each a drink," Thomas said with a smile.

Cobb made an order, which Arthur didn't pay attention to and he asked for the same, focused more on his possible employer than on what he was about to drink. The stranger had sandy hair and blue eyes and a five o'clock shadow, all of which gave him a somewhat scruffy appearance, though his suit jacket—which covered an African-style shirt—and tailored pants were clearly expensive. Thomas ordered Ogogoro—which Arthur had never heard of and was shocked the hotel bar had access to—and then leaned back in his chair, surveying his company with interest.

"I gather you're both a little on edge," Thomas said, fiddling with the corner of the napkin in front of him.

"I apologize if we seem that way," Cobb answered, his brow nit together. "But we were supposed to be meeting a man named Eames here."

"Ah well, I never travel under my actual name if I can avoid it," Thomas replied.

"So you are Eames?" Arthur demanded.

"Yes, I am."

"Why the fake identity?" Cobb shot Arthur a warning look, but the Point Man wasn't sorry he'd asked the question.

Thomas—or Eames or whoever he really was—shifted in his chair so he was leaning toward the two men he planned on hiring. "You would too, my dear boy, if you had as many people after you as I do."

It seemed a strange thing to say when you were trying to get someone to work for you.

"What exactly do you want from us, then?" Cobb asked, and Arthur could tell he was also caught off-guard by Eames's blunt reply.

"Just a simple extraction," he said confidently. "Nothing you can't handle."

"I'm afraid you must have been misinformed. "Cobb's tone had grown slightly colder.

"Beg your pardon?" Eames asked as their drinks where placed in front of them. He lifted his glass to his lips.

"My colleague and I work in anti-extraction. We train people against having their minds invaded." Cobb's answer was slow and calculated.

"Well, that's certainly not what the Forester job you pulled recently was, now was it?" Eames watched his drink as he spoke, like the glass was far more interesting than the people he was talking to.

Arthur shot Cobb a look that said _This guy knows way too much_, but the extractor only saw it out of the corner of his eye. He continued to stare at Eames, though his expression made it clear he was thinking along the same lines as Arthur.

"The extraction performed on Mr. Forester was done under the most unusual of circumstances. It was an exception."

"Perhaps you'd be willing to make another?" This time Eames lifted his eyes to meet Cobb's. "I realize that you're not particularly fond of breaking the law if you can avoid it, but I assure you that performing this extraction will do more good than harm."

"And how is that?" Cobb demanded.

"The man you'd be extracting from is currently dominating South African economics in a way that is unhealthy for the entire nation. Finding out his plans for expanding his company will allow the South African government to bring him down before he smothers what's left of the economy." He raised his glass as if he were making a toast. "Those motives aren't too evil for you, are they?"

This time Cobb met Arthur's gaze.

"I don't understand why you're so interested in this cause," Cobb admitted.

"Well you see," Eames said, finishing his drink and placing the empty glass on the table, "I'm not actually the one doing the hiring. I'm just another member of the team. The man I work for is an official in the South African government. He asked me to come here and recruit you two."

"Who else would be working with us?"

"I'll play the role of Forger, you will be cast as the Extractor, and the pretty boy here will be our Point Man." Arthur had a hard time fighting to keep his expression composed. Eames continued with, "We still need an architect but our compounds are standard and we won't need a chemist."

"You don't need an architect," Cobb said. Eames's eyebrow shot upwards incredulously. "I can design the levels."

"Does this mean I can tell my boss you'll be joining us in Johannesburg next Friday?" The Forger asked with a very pleased expression crossing his features.

Arthur shot a glance at Cobb, but he couldn't read the look in the Extractor's eyes. "I can't give you an answer now. I'll call you tonight."

"Hmmm," Eames replied, rolling his shoulders and leaning back in his chair again. "I'll need your answer before ten o'clock. That's when I have to relay your decision to my employer."

"Fine," Cobb said shortly. He stood and Arthur followed suit. "Good day, Mr. Eames. I'll be in touch with you soon."

"Please, just Eames," the Forger said, seeming genuinely bothered by the term "Mr." "And I hope you seriously consider this offer. I've done my research and you're the best in the business. I'd be sorry to have to find someone else."

XXX

"Are you going to take it?" Mal asked in a soft voice. Her face was only a few inches from Dom's as they lay nestled in their bed that night. She was half asleep, but clearly determined to stay awake until they had discussed the new offer thoroughly.

He let out a long sigh, reaching over to brush the hair from her face back behind her ear. "I don't know. I'm not really interested in another extraction just now."

"I understand," she agreed, though he could the hesitation in her voice. "But…this isn't like the Forester job. You have a choice. You don't have to do it, but you're also not being asked to commit a crime really. Is extraction even illegal in South Africa?"

"I don't know," he repeated. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. His head ached and he wished they weren't having this discussion.

Mal propped herself up on her elbow. "Dom," she murmured, "what's wrong?"

He turned his head to look at her and tried to smile reassuringly. "I'm just tired. There's nothing wrong."

She frowned. Her hand reached out to stroke his face gently. "This job could be a good thing. Maybe it can help you come to terms with the Forester job."

"I don't need to come to terms with it," he said firmly. "Everything worked out. There's nothing to come to terms with."

"I don't believe you."

He laughed, but the sound was not genuine.

"Dom, I will not tell you you need to do this job, but I will tell you that it would not be a bad thing. I know extraction is illegal here, but it's not everywhere. Besides, it's a chance to build again. To _really_ build—"

"I know, I know," he snapped, sitting up so that his back was turned to her. "Trust me, I've already gone through all this with myself."

He could almost envision the sour expression on her face, but he wasn't brave enough to turn around and face it.

"Well what then?" she demanded. "If you know all of the positives, what is it that's stopping you from taking the job?"

Taking a deep breath and trying to get himself back to his normal composure, he finally turned, wincing when he saw the glare in her eyes. _Okay, I deserve that,_ he told himself.

"I don't want my name out there," said finally. "I don't know how Landy found out about me, but he did. He knew I was a good Extractor, an even better Architect. How the hell did he know that?"

"Dom…" Her fingers ran along the length of his arm.

He continued, feeling more and more frustrated as he spoke. "I don't want any more thugs coming into our home and demanding we work for them. Extraction is a dangerous lifestyle to live when you've got a family and people to go back to at night. I can't have people controlling when I see you and what jobs I can and can't take. Landy getting ahold of my information is exactly what I want to avoid. I want my name to be known for anti-extraction and nothing else."

"I know," she sighed, still rubbing his arm comfortingly. "I know."

"How am I supposed to do that if I keep taking extraction jobs?" he insisted.

She shook her head and let out a long breath. "You can't."

Rubbing his eyes with one hand he said, "Then I shouldn't take this job."

Mal bit her lip, but she nodded her agreement. "I understand."

XXX

Arthur finally forced himself to stop pacing at around nine and made himself dinner even though he wasn't hungry. Though it felt like torture, he sat down to eat and chewed with deliberate slowness. His mind, however, was going a hundred miles a minute. He was so caught up in wondering if and when Cobb was going to call and whether or not he would like what he'd hear when Cobb finally did that he almost missed the ring of his phone in the other room. Jumping from his seat like he'd been electrocuted, he raced into the bedroom and snatched up his cellphone from inside his coat pocket and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"I'm taking the job. You don't have to join me if you don't want to." It was Cobb's voice.

"If you're taking the job, so am I," he responded without having to think. His stomach felt uneasy.

"Be here tomorrow morning and we'll talk about it."

"Fine," he agreed.

"See you then."

The dial tone buzzed in his ear for a long moment before he was able to snap his phone shut and sink onto his bed. He wasn't sure how he felt about all this—uncomfortable for sure, but unhappy? That he couldn't say. If Cobb thought it was a good idea, he'd follow, even if things had been going out of hand a little lately. Despite it all, despite the lies and the secrets, he still trusted his mentor.

XXX

A/N: This chapter has gone through three revisions, and I'm a little shocked at the turn it's taken but I'm also sort of excited. I promise that the next chapter will be interesting to make up for how short this one has been. I hope you enjoyed and I really need your reviews because I have no idea what to think of this chapter myself so I'm dying to know what you all think!


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own _Inception_ and I receive no profit from writing this story.

A/N: Okay, so this last twist in the story totally took me by surprise, but I'm really excited about it. This chapter is a little bit interesting so I really, really need your reviews. Thanks again for all the reviews thus far and forgive me for jumping around a little bit. I think this is what's best for the story, but it is going to throw off things a little. So please be patient with me. :) You guys are great!

Chapter 15

_**One Month Earlier**_

Arthur cursed at the sound of his phone ringing. He rolled onto his side, glancing at the clock—4:22 AM. Who calls _anyone_ at 4:22 AM?—before he reached clumsily for his phone, almost knocking it off his bedside table in the process. Eventually he managed to get a firm grip on the phone and forced his tone to stay merely sleepy instead of furious when he answered.

"Hello?" With his thumb and forefinger he rubbed his eyes, trying to force himself to concentrate.

"Arthur. I need you to get over here now."

He sat up. "Cobb?"

"Please, Arthur—"

"What's wrong?" he demanded, hearing the strain in his mentor's voice.

"I'll tell you when you get here. Come as soon as you can."

"Alright fine, I'm on my way." He kicked off the blankets as he spoke. Before he could ask any more questions the phone call ended and all that Arthur could hear was silence.

He yanked a pair of pants and a shirt from his closet, throwing them on and quickly running a hand through his hair before snatching up his keys and rushing down the stairs to underground parking in building. But before he left, he made a point of pulling his gun out of the drawer in his nightstand. Whatever was going on with Cobb it must be serious, or the Extractor would have given him more information. It made him nervous, thinking about Cobb so unhinged that he had almost resulted to _pleading_ with his Point Man. Jamming his keys into the ignition, he brought the car roaring to life and then pulled out of the garage and onto the street without paying much heed to the rules of the road. The drive to the Cobb household usually took him about twenty minutes, without poor traffic, but he arrived there in ten, saying a silent prayer of thanks that there were no cops around to catch him speeding and running red lights.

He pulled into the Cobb's parking lot, slammed his car door shut, and rushed up to the front door, fumbling with the spare key that Mal had made for him. Even with his mind racing to try and think of what possible reason Cobb could have asked him to come there at that early hour, he was aware enough to notice that there were no lights on in the house. Silently, he removed his gun from where it had been tucked into the back of his pants, using his thumb to switch off the safety. He pushed open the door and walked inside, gun ready.

The house seemed completely empty. With slow and soundless steps, he checked the kitchen, the living room, and then approached the study. His hands started to tremble. Even after all of the target practice, after all of the times that he'd shot and killed men, they were still projections. He'd never shot a real person before and the thought of it made his stomach turn. Frustrated at his own weakness, he set his jaw and wrapped his hands more firmly around the grip of his gun. Then, taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

Nothing. The room was completely black. He started to lower his gun when he felt the sharp crack of metal against the back of his skull. He crumpled to the ground and his vision went black just as the light in the room was switched on.

It took a little while before Arthur came to again and when he did, he found that the situation was almost as bad as his somewhat overly pessimistic imagination had thought up. His hands were bound behind his back with zip ties and he was laying on the floor, the back of his head throbbing like it had been clouted with a gun which, he was sorry to say, it had. He glanced upwards and, aside from being blinded by the light, he saw two men in tailored suits standing above him, brandishing pistols, one of which was surely was the culprit behind his injury. The man nearest Arthur decided to kick him in the stomach to test if he was awake. Arthur sucked in a breath on contact with the foot which caused the suited stranger to laugh dully.

"The little hero is awake," he said to the other.

"Great," responded the other without much enthusiasm. "Put him on the couch."

Another suited man stepped forward to help the kicker lift Arthur off of the floor and drag him over to the couch. He landed unceremoniously next to Cobb who looked like he was in much the same situation as Arthur, though instead of a welt the size of an orange forming on the back of his neck, his eye was purpling with a newly received bruise and his lip had split so that blood trickled down his chin. Arthur tried to catch his mentor's gaze, but the Extractor refused to look at him. Frowning, Arthur glanced around the room, spotting Mal tied to a chair in the corner. She looked unharmed but clearly upset. Though he realized upon further inspection that "upset" did not mean "close to tears" or "reduced to whimpering" or anything like that. Instead it meant "eyes glowing with the kind of anger you would expect to see from a mother bear whose cubs had been slaughtered in front of her." Thankfully, Phillipa was nowhere to be seen and Arthur prayed that she was still asleep in bed, unharmed and unnoticed.

"Alright," said one of the suited intruders, the one Arthur was beginning to suspect was the leader. He had startling blue eyes and dark hair and an expression that seemed like a mixture of boredom and perpetual irritation. "Let's get started."

Arthur turned his eyes back to Cobb, but the Extractor still would not meet his gaze.

"Arthur, isn't it?" the leader asked as though it were a waste of time. "Allow me to bring you up to date. I've asked Mr. Cobb to perform an extraction for me and he just won't do it. But I really need that extraction to take place and Mr. Cobb is well-known for his dream-sharing knowledge and expertise. I won't settle for anyone less talented. So, I've decided that if he's going to continue to reject my offer, I'm going to kill him, his family, and you." He paused for a second, as though thinking. "Reverse that order."

"Hmmph," was all Arthur said.

"So I've brought you here for two reasons. One, I'd like you to talk Mr. Cobb here into doing this extraction for me. And if you won't do that, you'll still be a part of plan "B." I'll kill you first and see if that doesn't wake him up a little."

"And what if it doesn't?" Arthur asked.

"Then I'll kill his wife and see if that can't change his mind."

"Ah." Arthur's voice sounded much smaller than he would have liked.

"So start talking, Point Man, before I lose patience," commanded the suited man, waving at one of his comrades who responded by pointing his gun at Arthur's left temple.

The Point Man swallowed and took a deep breath. "Cobb," he started, his voice low, "what do you want me to do?"

The Extractor was silent for a long time. "We're going to do the extraction." He'd never heard Cobb's voice sound so defeated.

"Okay," Arthur agreed. "Then what?"

"That all depends on Mr. Landy," Cobb said dryly. Arthur could only assume that meant the dark-haired man that took pleasure in threatening innocent people.

"Then I'll let you go and you can continue to live your lives however you want," Landy said with a dark smile.

"Alright, you got your wish," Arthur said dully. "What's the job?"

The two cronies lowered their guns and retrieved several thick folders from two bags propped up against the wall by the door. They dropped the files onto the desk as Landy began to talk.

"His name is Kyle Forester, head of Forester Mining. He runs the largest conglomerate of gold and silver mines in the world. I happen to own the second largest. In order for my company to succeed, I need to know what his plans are for the new mine that he's building this upcoming fall, most especially how he plans to finance it." He gestured at the folders that now littered the desk. "Everything you need to know about the job and what I am looking for are in these."

No one spoke. Landly examined the extraction team with a look of distaste. Mal looked just about ready to kill him with her eyes.

"If that's all, then I hope you don't mind us trying to get some sleep tonight before we begin work," Cobb said stiffly.

"No, I don't mind at all," Landly said. "I'll be back periodically to check on your work."

With that, he turned to leave the room and one of the cronies followed suit; the other stayed put.

"Aren't you going to let us go?" Cobb demanded.

"Oh Johnson will do that," Landly said, waving his hand in the general direction of the man who was still pointing a gun at Cobb's chest. "He's going to stay here to make sure you do what you're supposed to."

Cobb glared at Landly with disgust.

"Have a good night," Landly taunted.

The room fell silent when he left and Arthur, Cobb, and Mal all stared with venom at Johnson who roughly began cutting them free. He finished the task by smacking each of them "accidentally" with the handle of the knife as he passed. Then, looking seriously tired himself, he moved to the living room to take a nap, warning the three of them that any false moves would get them killed. He left the room and Arthur immediately spun on his heel so that he was facing his trainers, his eyes narrowed with suppressed anger.

"What the hell, Cobb?" he snapped. "What happened?"

"I don't know how he found me," the Extractor insisted.

"But why was he _here_? You work in anti-extraction, why the hell would he ask you to perform an extraction instead?"

"I don't know, Arthur," Cobb sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "I wish I did. I don't even know where he heard about me or how he knew to find us."

"And why was he threatening to kill you?" Arthur continued as if he hadn't heard anything Cobb had said.

"He called, a few days ago. I refused his offer. I didn't think he'd show up in the middle of the night threatening to shoot me if I didn't cooperate."

"This is…insane," Arthur fumed.

"Oh for God's sake, Arthur, shut up!" Mal snapped. It was the first time she'd talked since Arthur had been there and she caught him completely off-guard. "You're not the only one who's upset about this."

He didn't know how to respond.

"Mal…you should get some rest before we start work tomorrow," Cobb said softly.

She sent him a withering glance, then shot another one at Arthur before storming from the room. The Point Man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked over at Cobb who was sinking back into the couch, running his hands over his face like he was trying to iron his eyes open.

"I'm sorry, Cobb," said Arthur. "I shouldn't have gotten angry at you. This isn't your fault."

"Don't be stupid, Arthur, of course it's my fault," Cobb groaned.

The two of them fell silent. Exhausted, Arthur lowered himself into a chair.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now we complete the extraction as quickly as possible and pray that we can get on with our lives." Cobb looked up at him, suddenly much older than he'd been the last time Arthur had seen him only thirty-six hours before.

"And after it's over?"

Cobb huffed and folded his arms across his chest. "After it's over I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure that man never comes near my family again."

XXX

_**Present**_

The Forester job had been a strange experience for everyone. They'd worked tirelessly until the job was successfully completed, and in that time Arthur realized that this line of work had ramifications in the real world that he hadn't anticipated. Mal, being so close to her due date, didn't work much of the job which meant that Arthur was basically on his own. It wasn't too bad and he handled it fairly well, but whenever Mal and Cobb were together it was clear that they were discussing things behind Arthur's back. It seemed to the Point Man that there were secrets about Cobb's past in extraction that they weren't telling him. Landly had found them somehow and though Cobb denied it, Arthur was almost positive the Extractor knew how.

Now that the job was behind them and things had returned somewhat to normal, Arthur had mixed feelings about taking on the South Africa job. He wasn't sure what it was that had made Cobb chose to accept—it had seemed pretty clear on the ride back from the hotel that Cobb wasn't planning on saying yes. Especially after the Forester job, Arthur was almost certain that they would turn down Eames's offer. And yet on Friday, Arthur and Cobb were packed and ready to fly down to Johannesburg. They met Eames at the airport and before the Point Man even had time to confront his mentor about why they'd agreed to this they were arriving.

Arthur wasn't sure why he'd been so willing to follow Cobb's lead. Frankly, the Forester job was just short of a disaster, and another extraction wasn't exactly something Arthur was leaping at. On top of that, this time he'd be on his own without Mal or anyone to walk him through this. Not to mention the fact that Cobb would more likely than not miss the birth of his new child while he was away in South Africa. But for whatever reason, Mal supported the decision and Arthur did too. Over a year had passed since he first met Cobb and since then he'd come to admire and respect the Extractor in a way that Arthur never had before. It wasn't like he had a father figure to look up to, or an older brother, or even good friends. Arthur had always been a bit of a loner and Cobb was the closest thing to a best friend that he'd had since high school. But at the same time, there were moments when the Point Man just wanted to punch Cobb in the face. It was frustrating, working with Cobb, but it was also the best experience he'd ever had in his life. So even if Cobb was lying to him, even if he was keeping secrets, he was willing to stick it out. He trusted Cobb, as strange as that might be.

XXX

A/N: I hope this chapter didn't seem too out of place. I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. Please let me know what you thought! Sorry, once again, that it's not very long.


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